


Enemy of My Enemy

by Lys ap Adin (lysapadin)



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: AU, Fantasy, Gen, Unfinished and Discontinued, pre-relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2001-09-02
Updated: 2001-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-03 21:00:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysapadin/pseuds/Lys%20ap%20Adin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The enemy of my enemy is my ally. At least temporarily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Painfully old fic, reposted for the sake of archiving it. Unfinished, discontinued.

[5 May 1243 Post Alliance]

The young duchess of the Peacecraft duchy, one of the two largest in the loose alliance of duchies that was the Sanq Kingdom, paused in her progression along the path of her garden path. She turned, looking at her bodyguard. "*Must* you follow me around constantly?" she demanded, half in amusement, half in exasperation.

He replied with a faint air of long suffering. "Your Grace, it is my duty to protect you at all times."

The duchess tossed her head, blonde hair sparkling in the sunshine. "From what? Who would dare harm me in the sanctity of my own castle, surrounded by my own lands?"

Cobalt eyes flickered with dark amusement that was quickly hidden. "Not everyone is as devoted to your ideals of peace as you are, Your Grace."

Duchess Relena Peacecraft laughed. "You're so serious, Heero."

"It is my duty, Your Grace." Even though they had paused to speak in the midst of the safest portion of the Peacecraft duchy, his eyes never ceased moving, seeking any possible threat to his lady.

Relena sighed heavily. "Is there anything that you do that doesn't pertain to duty, Heero?"

"That is not what I was trained for, Your Grace."

Her lips twitched. "You win, Heero." She smiled slightly and resumed her progression down the path, her faithful guardian a few steps behind her.

   


* * *

  
 

Kneeling briefly, the ranger examined the faint traces of disturbed moss. Satisfied that his quarry had passed by very recently, he stood. This time, the elusive group would not escape him. Green eyes glowing with a faint satisfaction, he slipped forward through the Far Reach Forest, of the duchy of Noin, noiselessly.

No one poached in Trowa Barton's territory and got away with it.

   


* * *

  
 

The roguish noble laughed exultantly as he galloped beyond the reach of the baron's lands. "Maybe next time!" he yelled over one shoulder, whooping with the sheer joy of being young and on a fast horse, racing away from another successful conquest. He snickered to himself, straightening his fine tunic and patting the pouch hanging around his neck. It contained a souvenir of his double conquest--the baron of Far Reach's lovely, lonely young baroness... and the family's heirloom set of aquamarine rings set in platinum.

His laughter rang to the sunny blue skies. It was good to be alive on such a fine day, he decided. Devilish smile still lighting his angelic features, Quatre Raberba Winner, the disowned heir of the Winner duchy, spurred his horse down the road, already beginning to consider his next conquest.

   


* * *

  
 

"What *is* it?" Chang Wufei demanded, looking up from his book with irritation in his dark eyes.

The servant, he saw, was biting back a smile. "My lord, it is dinner time."

"I'm in the middle of something. Bring it up," Wufei muttered, returning his attention to the text.

"My lord, that would not be prudent. Lady Meiran is expecting you to join her... and she is not known for her tolerant temper," the servant replied.

Wufei gritted his teeth. "No, she isn't. Thank you *kindly* for pointing that out to me." He closed the book with a soft thump.

"You're quite welcome, sir," the man replied with a perfectly straight face.

"You think this is funny, don't you?"

"Not at all, sir."

"Of course not. Well, might as well go down and escort my intended to dinner," Wufei sighed.

The twenty-eighth Dragon Lord of the Dragon Keep of the icy northern mountains set aside his book, cursing all the while the betrothal that tied him to Meiran Ron, the foremost warrior of her clan, and a woman whom he barely knew--but already disliked.

*There is no justice.*

   


* * *

  
 

Walking down the narrow twisted streets of Chanth, capital city of the Winner duchy, Hirde affected obliviousness to the stealthy shadows she had acquired a few alleys back. Perhaps she, an unescorted woman walking through the poorer sections of town, presented an easy mark for would-be thieves.

Hirde smiled slightly. The truth couldn't be further from appearances... as certain thugs were to learn shortly.

Ducking down the next street, she paused, waiting as she feigned interest in the obscured numbers of a rat-infested tenement. Her wait was brief as her stalkers emerged from the shadows of the empty street... five of them.

Before the leader could speak, Hirde interrupted him. "If you say 'Your money or your life' or anything else to that effect, I shall kill you."

The goons paused, taken aback. Two of them, noting that Hirde, with her relaxed, ready stance, seemed utterly unafraid of their larger numbers, shifted uneasily.

The apparent leader ignored Hirde's confidence. "Listen here, missy, you don't want no trouble from us--just give us your money, and you'll live."

Hirde sighed impatiently. "What did I just say about cliched phrases?" she asked the heavens. She shrugged eloquently, even as he, a knife at the ready, began to advance. "Here, catch." She lobbed a small sphere at him that glowed the same blue as her coolly assessing eyes.

The thug fumbled with his knife, instinctively reaching for the sphere of light. Upon making contact with his skin, it flashed to an incandescent white, detonating with a soundless explosion that jarred every bone in the bodies of those nearest him. He dropped, expression frozen in shock.

"Fuck! She's a wizard!" one of the survivors screamed. Highly demoralized, the remainder of the group scattered.

Hirde snorted. "Evocationalist, actually," she murmured, picking her way past the body. There were still things to be done, after all.

   


* * *

  
 

*Remember... smile. This is the woman who will someday much too soon be your wife. Being polite is _good_. Antagonizing the dragon is a _bad_ idea.* Wufei winced. *Best not to the think of the wife as a dragon. Save that title for the mother-in-law.*

His bride-to-be appeared at the door, and he rose, striding over to offer his arm to the lovely young woman. "Good evening, Lady Ron," he said, bowing. *Smile, compliment her dress.* "You look lovely this evening."

Meiran's face hardened immediately, and Wufei grimaced internally. *Oh, gods, what did I say _this_ time?* "Warriors have no need of being lovely," she said quietly. Avoiding Wufei's offered assistance, she made her way to the high table alone.

*Another evening off to a wonderful start,* Wufei thought drily. *Stupid woman. Most girls would be _glad_ to receive a compliment... but not _my_ crazy bride, though... Wonder how long it'll take us to start arguing tonight.*

Taking his proper place next to Meiran, the lord of Dragon Keep signaled for the dinner to begin. Turning to Meiran and mustering all his (limited) social skills, Wufei attempted to "get to know" his fiancee. "Lady Ron, I trust that you are finding everything about your stay here to your satisfaction? Or is there anything I may change to better suit you?"

"A warrior is comfortable in any environment," Meiran replied.

*Patience... I _will_ have patience...* "Of course, Lady Ron. In that case, are the training facilities adequate for your needs?" Wufei asked, feeling his tenuous grip on his good mood slowly evaporating.

Meiran sniffed. "They are sufficient enough for a keep that is not known for its warriors. I am used to better."

Wufei couldn't resist the opportunity. "But I thought a warrior was comfortable in any environment?"

Meiran's dark eyes flashed. "A true warrior is. I did not say I could not make do. Besides, I expected no better from the clan of weakling scholars."

*I _will_ control my temper... I _will_ control my temper... Oh, the hell with it.* Wufei forced a smile that was more a baring of the teeth. "Different clans value different strengths, Lady Ron... or has your clan placed such an emphasis on physical prowess that it has neglected its mental faculties?"

Meiran's eyes went wide, and her cheeks flushed angrily. "At least my clan does not hide itself behind strong walls and books while the rest of the world burns around it," she hissed angrily.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Wufei demanded, stung.

"I think you know, scholar." Meiran glared. "Just because your clan has lived apart from the world for centuries now does not mean that the world has forgotten about you."

Wufei frowned. "This is about the situation to the south again, isn't it?" he asked. He sighed heavily. "Dragon Keep has never interfered with the affairs of the outside world, and the outside world has kindly returned the favor. I have no intention of embroiling my clan in the muddles that lesser people create."

Meiran slammed her cup down. "You are a blind man. Is it *just* to allow one man to overwhelm a continent of people?"

Wufei snorted. "He will fail. No one could achieve what you are predicting."

"You--you--you *idiot* man," Meiran sputtered. She stood abruptly. "Hide your head all you like, *Lord* Chang. Just don't be surprised when the world comes crashing in on your pleasant little world of books." With this, she stormed from the hall.

Wufei muttered something soft and highly impolite under his breath.

*Well, we lasted all the way to the main course...*

   


* * *

  
 

"Lady Iria will see you now."

"It's about damn time," Hirde muttered, rising from the fragile, impractical chair that was a part of the luxurious antechamber's decor. She stretched, feeling her vertebrae pop and settle. The serving maid watched the display with obvious disapproval. Hirde flashed her a broad grin. "Lead the way."

Back stiffly held, the maid escorted the uncouth commoner through a few more rooms, all of which were as expensively furnished as the first. Finally, they reached a small sitting room, where Lady Iria Winner, ensconced before a tea table, waited. "Miss Hirde Schbeiker, my Lady," the servant announced.

"Thank you, Gert. I shall ring if there is anything I require," Lady Iria, the eldest daughter of the duke of Winner, told the maid.

"As you wish." The maid curtsied, gave Hirde a last look that warned her to behave, and vanished through another door.

"Nice place you've got here... the servants are a little fussy, though," Hirde announced expansively, running a hand through her short hair. "I had a hell of a time getting in, you know."

Lady Iria's mouth thinned slightly, as if she couldn't quite believe the carefree audacity of the commoner who dared address her in such a manner. "You are the bounty hunter?" she asked delicately.

"Yep!" Hirde grinned proudly, snapping off an irreverent salute for the aristocrat's benefit. "Hirde Schbeiker, evocationalist and bounty hunter, at your service--for the right price, of course. What can I do for your Ladyship?"

"You are, perhaps, aware that I have a brother," Lady Iria said, gripping the arms of her chair in a subtle display of her barely restrained irritation.

"Quatre? Hell yeah, I've heard of him," Hirde grinned. "He's one of the best in his particular line of work."

Lady Iria sighed. "My *dear* brother did me a tremendous favor when he disappeared; his sisters and I could hardly care less about what becomes of him. However, our esteemed father dotes on the brat." She smiled with forced calm. "He wishes to see Quatre returned home to assume his rightful place as the Winner heir."

Hirde nodded wisely. "I see, you want me to go run down young master Quatre and drag him home to daddy, is that it?"

Lady Iria smiled. "Not precisely. I wish you to hunt Quatre down and remove him from the succession."

Hirde's jaw dropped momentarily, before she hid her shock. She let out a low whistle. "*That's* gonna cost you, your Ladyship. I don't normally do those sorts of jobs--" Lady Iria named a price, and Hirde stopped, flabbergasted. "Say that again?"

"You will receive that sum now, and that much again when you bring me sufficient proof of Quatre's demise," Lady Iria replied coolly. "Do we have an agreement, Miss Schbeiker?"

*Shit... what a _bitch_...* "I--accept your offer, Lady Iria."

   


* * *

  
 

Duchess Lucrezia Noin hid her discomposure well as the commander of her army reported to her. "Thank you, that will be sufficient," she murmured as he finished.

"May I offer a suggestion, Your Grace?" he ventured, fidgeting with his ceremonial sword.

"Your advice has never let me down yet, General Herot." She smiled graciously at him.

He hesitated. "I will be perfectly honest with you, Your Grace... in an out and out war with the Khushrenada duchy, we of Noin do not stand a chance. The duke has been planning this for a very long time, it would seem. Even if we conscripted every able-bodied man in the duchy, we couldn't begin to match his numbers... much less the quality of his Specials, who are under the command of Zechs Merquise."

Lucrezia could not quite control the faint spasm in her cheek at the mention of Duke Treize Khushrenada's chief officer. "Your suggestion on how we deal with the situation is, General?" she inquired, regaining her tranquility.

Herot bowed his head. "My suggestion is... that when the duke asks for the duchy's surrender... you comply."

   


* * *

  
 

The pounding on her door a few hours after sundown roused Sally Po from her bed. "Yes?" she asked, having thrown a robe over herself before answering the door.

"You the healer around here?" a woman, outlandishly dressed in the colorful silks of a roving band of Telati, demanded.

"Yes... What can I do for you?" Sally replied, scanning the other woman's body for injuries automatically.

"A member of my family got himself knifed. Can you help?" she asked. Immediately, as if expecting resistance, she added, "I can pay."

"Never mind about that. Give me a moment to gather what I need," the healer replied. Long since used to making nocturnal visits to the ill and injured, Sally dressed swiftly and gathered the supplies she might need.

She followed the Telati woman through the darkness, silent for a few minutes before offering a comment. "The name's Sally Po."

"Cathrine Bloom."

"Ah... what was his condition, can you tell me?" Sally questioned.

Cathrine shrugged one shoulder. "Bad. He was bleeding a lot."

Sally winced, inwardly raging at the inability of the citizens of the Sanq duchy to accept the presence of the wandering Telati.

Like her own small cottage, the Telati encampment was located at a slight remove from the village proper. Cathrine made her way through a small throng of men and women whose faces were closed and shuttered at the sight of the outsider with her. Sally followed her to one wagon, ducking inside to find Cathrine on her knees next to a young man groaning on a pallet. His face was drawn and grey from pain. A cursory examination left Sally certain regarding the diagnosis.

He was dying slowly due to a deep, ragged slash across his abdomen.

"Gods and goddesses preserve us," she murmured, dropping next to Cathrine on the hard wooden bed of the wagon.

Cathrine glanced sideways at her. "Can you do anything for him, Healer?"

Sally sighed, fingers probing already at his wound. "I--can try." She cupped her hands slightly, closing her eyes and drawing in a deep breath. Clearing her mind of all other concerns, she exhaled slowly. A soft glow seeped from between her fingers, the same gentle blue as her eyes. Cathrine hissed softly as she watched the wound on her cousin's torso begin to knit back together and the expression of pain of his face ease.

Sally lifted her hands away from the boy's now-unblemished torso, her own face now shadowed with weariness. "You're going to be very sore for several days, and tired, so don't wear yourself out," she said, managing to sound brisk despite the exhaustion apparent in every line of her body. Smiling faintly, she forced herself to her feet. "Cathrine, could I trouble you for some assistance home, please?"

For the first time, Cathrine smiled at her. "Stay here with us. You're in no condition to go anywhere, and it's the least we can do for the woman who saved this rascal's sorry hide." She stood, and extended her hand to the healer.

Sally took the hand gratefully.

   


* * *

  
 

"...and that concludes the report, Your Grace," Zechs finished respectfully.

Treize Khushrenada took a thoughtful sip of wine. "Very interesting, Zechs. Since intelligence indicates Lucrezia Noin's vulnerability, I believe it safe to assume little resistance from that quarter."

"All the same, it would not do to underestimate Her Grace," Zechs reminded him gently.

"This is true. Lucrezia *can* be rather stubborn, as I've been told." Treize smiled. "Still, I do not anticipate much trouble from her, even if she decides to resist. Duke Winner, likewise, will present little obstacle."

"How is that, Your Grace?"

"He is still mourning the lawless ways of his errant son," Treize replied. "Furthermore, the eldest daughter of the family is *extremely* interested in our little cause... as I understand it, she is taking her own steps to ensure that Winner gives us no trouble at all. Remind me to thank young Quatre someday."

"Then... the only true barrier will be... the Peacecraft duchy," Zechs commented, drawing the thought out to its logical conclusion.

"Yes." Treize regarded Zechs thoughtfully. "Relena will never accept my methods of unifying the Sanq duchies, I'm afraid... Perhaps it would be advisable to remove her from my path."

"If you think it wise, Your Grace... shall I arrange it?" Zechs inquired.

Treize pondered his subordinate's question. "Yes. Please see to it."


	2. Chapter 2

[6 May 1243 Post Alliance]

Cathrine, sitting cross-legged with her back against a wagon wheel, looked up and smiled at Sally as the healer stumbled out of the wagon. "'Afternoon. We were beginning to think you were going to sleep all day."

Sally rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "Sorry. It happens... after. How is he?"

"Working the angle for all he's worth. He's got all the girls hanging onto his every word like he's some kind of hero or something." Cathrine pointed at the ground. "Sit," she commanded. "You still look pretty shaky." Raising her voice, Cathrine yelled out to the group of girls huddled together on the other side of the circle of wagons. "Hey! Somebody get the woman something to eat, damn it! Make yourselves useful!"

"You don't have to--" Sally protested.

Cathrine held up a hand. "No, we owe you, Sally Po. And my tribe always pays its debts."

One of the teenaged girls approached shyly, bearing a bowl of stew and staring at Sally. She burst into giggles as Sally accepted the bowl, and then beat a hasty retreat to the group of friends across the way.

Cathrine chuckled. "Their wits are addled," she murmured as the cluster of girls chattered excitedly.

Sally's skin darkened slightly in embarrassment. "I didn't want to cause a disruption."

"Naw, they don't have anything better to do anyway... They aren't to go into town, since it's high time we were moving on." Cathrine's tone turned considerably cooler. "This town isn't as hospitable as it used to be."

"I'm sorry about your cousin," Sally offered, in between mouthfuls of stew.

"Don't be. He's one of the lucky ones. He survived, after all, thanks to your help. Others... others aren't so lucky."

"Who did you lose?" Sally asked softly.

"Damn, perceptive, aren't you?" Cathrine sighed. "My husband. He was the caravan leader. Got into a fight a few years back, lost, and there weren't any true healers around that time."

"I'm sorry." Sally went silent.

"Yeah, me too. But... these things happen. All you can do is pick up the pieces and go on," Cathrine said briefly. She changed the subject. "So, what's a true healer doing in a dinky little town like this one, anyway?"

Sally shrugged. "It's where I grew up. I have--had--family here. And they needed a healer, so I just... never left."

Cathrine grimaced. "How can you *stand* it? Staying in one place, day in, day out, year in, year out..." She shuddered in fastidious distaste.

"It's a living, I guess." Sally scraped the last of the stew from the bowl.

"But is it really living?" Cathrine asked.

Sally blinked. "Probably not according to your standards."

Cathrine grinned at the healer. "We're heading out tomorrow, I think. Wanna tag along?"

"Sure, I'd like that," Sally blurted out before she even knew what she was saying.

   


* * *

  
 

[7 May 1243 Post Alliance]

"I trust you left my cousin in good health?" Dorothy Catalonia, the duchess of Catalonia, lifted on curious forked eyebrow at the emissary from Khushrenada duchy.

Lady Une nodded tersely. "His Grace enjoys excellent health."

Dorothy smiled. "Superb. I assume this visit of yours regards his latest... entertainment?"

"His Grace wishes to affirm that he has your continued backing in his endeavors," Lady Une replied.

"Ah... ever careful, isn't he? Treize may rest assured that I still have nothing but the best interests of my duchy at heart," the duchess told Lady Une.

"His Grace would prefer a more definite statement of your intentions," Lady Une retorted, not for one moment fooled by Dorothy's dissemination.

Dorothy laughed quietly. "So perceptive, Lady Une... Rest assured, my dear guardian wolf, I intend to support Treize fully. The benefits of doing so are... promising."

   


* * *

  
 

"And what is your opinion of my beloved cousin?" Treize inquired.

"I do not trust her, Your Grace," Lady Une replied instantly. "She will support you only so long as she sees it as profitable for her interests."

Her lord laughed. "That is to be expected when it comes to the aristocracy, dear Lady Une. None of us are *trustworthy*. My cousin need not fear, though. I have things well under control."

"Still, Your Grace, do not turn your back on her. She will betray you if something strikes her as being more advantageous." Lady Une frowned slightly, wondering how anyone could not be completely loyal to His Grace.

Treize shrugged at Une. "It happens occasionally. I shall have to be certain that I do nothing to lose dear Dorothy's commitment." He paused. "I wish you to rest and then proceed directly to Noin. Handle Lucy as you see fit, just as long as you persuade her to at least stay neutral until I have time to deal with her duchy."

"I need no rest, Your Grace. I will set out immediately." Lady Une bowed, leaving swiftly.

Zechs stepped out of the shadows of Treize's office. "Really, sir, how *do* you inspire such dedication from your minions?"

Treize smiled as his second-in-command approached the desk. "It's a combination of being good at what I do, great personal charm, skillful manipulation, good pay, and a sufficient amount of fear."

Zechs seated himself on the corner of Treize's wide desk, a smile tugging at his lips. "Really? I just thought it was the great sex... sir."

Treize smirked. "There is that, too."

   


* * *

  
 

Lady Une settled her body comfortably on the special lounge that she had designed and ordered built precisely to her specifications. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, clearing her mind of all distractions. Moving with slow surety, she reached out, stretching... stretching... the link between body and soul drawing out like a fine wire... *I _will_ have to rest after this mission, regardless of His Grace's needs,* Lady Une decided, looking down in spiritual form at her weary corporeal body. *No time for thinking of that, however.* With thought's swiftness, she willed herself to the duchy of Noin.

Willing a tangible form into existence took longer than she had expected. *Gods, I _am_ tired. I should have taken His Grace's advice and rested.*

Lady Une squared her shoulders and had herself announced to the duchess of Noin.

   


* * *

  
 

Noin winced. *He sent _Une_...* "Of course I shall be glad to see Khushrenada's emissary," the duchess said with brittle, forced warmth. *He sent Une... He must be serious.*

Lady Une marched into the room, her boot heels clicking crisply on the floor. "Your Grace." Rather than curtsy, she bowed like a man would.

"Lady Une." Noin waited, determined to face her duchy's fate with as much dignity as she could muster.

"Let us not mince words, Your Grace. You are, of course, aware that Khushrenada is preparing for war," Lady Une announced.

"It has come to my attention," the duchess murmured dryly. "What does His Grace expect me to do about it?"

Lady Une smiled faintly. "Nothing, of course. We all know that Noin is, at best, an ineffectual force among the duchies. Do your people a favor and stay neutral until Khushrenada assimilates you."

Noin sighed. "Are these His Grace's direct orders, Lady Une?"

Une nodded. "When he has settled other matters, then he will deal with your duchy. How he does so depends entirely on how you behave during the coming weeks."

"I understand." Lucrezia Noin sighed again, passing a weary hand over her face. "Give my regards to His Grace."

Lady Une smiled. "I'm glad that you are a reasonable woman, Your Grace." She bowed perfunctorily and stalked away.

   


* * *

  
 

A lithe figure stole through the shadows, summoned by his superiors. He announced his presence in the noble's private study with a soft cough. "If I were your enemy, you would be dead now."

Zechs glanced up from a map that he had been studying. Icy blue eyes probed the shadows. "If you were an enemy, you never would have come this far," he retorted.

The shadowy figure laughed wryly. "You don't know that."

"I am paying you well enough that I should never have occasion to learn otherwise," Zechs replied sharply. "Enough chatter, though."

"You're too serious, m'Lord," chided the lurking man. "It's not healthy in a man of your age."

"It keeps me alive," Zechs replied.

"I laugh and still manage to stay alive."

"You're an extreme case. Regardless, I have a mission for you."

"I can't imagine."

Zechs scowled at him. "A certain political figure is becoming too much of a nuisance for my master. I wish her to be removed."

There was a soft intake of breath. "That's going to cost you, m'Lord."

"We both know that money is of no importance." Zechs smiled without any humor. "Will you accept the mission or not?"

"Do I have any choice?" came the quiet, bitter reply.

Zechs laughed softly. "That's the beauty of it... you really don't."

"Mission... accepted." There was a quiet flutter of darkness, and Zechs knew he was alone once again...

He leaned back in his chair, and a sardonic voice whispered taunts in the stillness of his mind.

*You've just placed a contract on your own sister's life, Milliard... how does that make you feel?*

   


* * *

  
 

The dark figure sat in the crook of a tree branch, regarding the darkened windows of the complex quietly. He really ought to be well on his way to Escand, the capital of Sanq, to Relena Peacecraft and his mission. But, as was his wont before a really important job, he had come here first.

To reflect, and remind himself why he did what he did.

The pale blue light of the moon outlined the worn building. It wasn't anything spectacular, just a tired, slightly ramshackle but large old house--a rambling place that was the host to dozens of children, all orphans... like himself. It was a quiet, happy place, where unwanted children received the love that they were starved for.

It was where he had spent his earliest years.

It was the only haven of love that he had known in his life.

It housed the only family he had ever known.

It was the place for which he killed.

The assassin smiled bitterly, saluting the old building. "You're all safe for a little longer," he whispered. Then he leaped down from the branch with a flirt of a long chestnut braid and set off for Peacecraft.

   


* * *

  
 

[8 May 1243 Post Alliance]

Heero frowned, lost deep in thought. This... this was not good. "You're certain?" he asked sharply.

"Yes, sir! Lady Une was very definitely seen in the presence of the duchess of Catalonia. They were on very good terms, sir."

"Damn it... I've been expecting this, but, all the same, I had hoped that it wouldn't come so soon." Heero rubbed his eyes. "I'll go inform her grace." He left the bustle that was the Peacecraft duchy's Defense Council.

Arriving in Relena's study, Heero curtly dismissed the four soldiers on guard. Relena, looking up at his glowering face, laughed softly. "You have such a grim look on your face again," she observed lightly. "What new threat to my safety looms over us now?"

"It's no laughing matter. We have confirmation that Dorothy Catalonia is at the very least communicating with Treize," Heero said briefly. "It is very likely that they are allying themselves."

"That doesn't surprise me, Heero. Catalonia and Khushrenada have been allies for a very long time now." Relena smiled.

Heero sighed. "Yes, but they've never planned a coup together before," he pointed out forcefully.

Relena shook her head. "No, Heero... I don't believe that Treize would dare plunge the duchies into war. I know that he is a man who holds peace in high regard. Surely he of all people would not be willing to shed that much blood!"

"Your Grace, please listen to me. Treize Khushrenada is going to strike, probably very soon. Peacecraft is going to be caught right between Catalonia and Khushrenada. If we don't take precautions, they *will* crush us."

Relena again shook her head, denying Heero's statement. "I can't agree with you, Heero. I have more faith in us humans than that... I have more faith in *Milliard* than that."

Heero growled, involuntarily, at the mention of the duchess's brother. "Your Grace, with all due respect, I do *not* have faith in Lord Milliard. Unlike you, I refuse to believe that he is merely working with Treize in order to promote peace and better understanding between our duchies! He's no longer Milliard Peacecraft, even, he's Zechs Merquise, commanding officer of the Specials!"

Relena's face grew cold. "Are you quite finished, Commander Yuy?" she asked.

Heero bit his lip, quelling his anger as he realized that he overstepped his boundaries. "I apologize, Your Grace. That was completely uncalled for on my part."

"Yes, it was," the duchess agreed crisply. "However, no one, not even you, knows Milliard as well as I do, so I forgive you. Just understand this--my brother is not the traitor you believe him to be."

"If you say so, Your Grace." Heero kept his face expressionless, even though he was seething inwardly. *Zechs Merquise... I will kill you.*

   


* * *

  
 

The duchess regarded the map carefully. "I believe that... if we strike here first... and here... and here, then all opposition will be eliminated."

Her advisors and generals looked at her with wide eyes. "But... Your Grace... no one has ever dared attack Dragon Keep," one advisor ventured.

Dorothy smiled sweetly. "That is why they will never expect it, and we will be able to take them with no trouble."

"Your Grace, Dragon Keep and the clans of that area have a long history of remaining strictly neutral," another advisor mentioned. "Attacking them will be flying in the face of hundreds of years of tradition."

"Trying to unify the Sanq duchies goes against a thousand years of tradition," Dorothy retorted. "Do I look as though I give a damn about tradition?" She stared at the assembly expectantly. "I didn't think so. Now, Lady Une assures me that the signal that Treize has begun will come in a few days, a week or two at the most. We must have ourselves unified and in position by then."

"How will you know what the signal is?"

Dorothy smiled, thoroughly chilling their blood. "Oh, I'll *know*. It promises to be quite spectacular." She paused. "Did I not say we had to be in position within a few days? What are you doing still standing around? Commence the operations immediately!"

The duchess complacently watched the men scatter at her command. *Yes, it will be spectacular indeed...*

   


* * *

  
 

Quatre cursed roundly, exceedingly annoyed by the persistence of the idiots who had marked him as easy prey. He had hoped that reaching Far Reach Forest would have deterred the pursuit somewhat, if not thrown them off his scent completely. Apparently the gods weren't as amenable to the idea as he was.

And the past few days since his abrupt departure from the baron's castle had been going *so* well, too.

Quatre yelped another curse as something buzzed past his ear. *A crossbow... damn it, they _had_ to have a crossbow.* A second bolt sped past. *Okay, crossbows. At least they have lousy aim.* Quatre frowned, urging his horse on, with the sinking feeling that he might not make it out of this encounter alive.

   


* * *

  
 

It was the commotion that first attracted Trowa's attention, the angry shouts and thundering hooves that disturbed the tranquility of his forest. Perturbed, he moved to investigate.

A grim-faced boy was fleeing a nasty-looking group of armed men. Trowa had been around long enough to recognize the scenario. Bandits were rare enough in the area, since Far Reach *was* one of Noin's more remote areas, but the problem did occasionally crop up.

Trowa smiled slightly, lowering the bow from his shoulder and nocking an arrow. The week was turning out to be quite eventful. He drew back the bow, carefully judging his aim, and let the first arrow fly.

   


* * *

  
 

"What the--" The shouts of his pursuers had changed from anger to alarm. Curious enough to risk a backwards glance, Quatre was just in time to see the *third* crossbow wielding brigand topple out of his saddle, the feathered shaft of an arrow jutting from his throat.

Quatre's grim expression took on a slightly malicious grin. He had an ally now... and two against seven--make that six--were odds he could handle.

Wheeling his horse around, Quatre drew his rapier and kicked his heels into his mount's sides.

   


* * *

  
 

Trowa smiled slightly in amusement as the blond boy turned around and realized that his enemy had lost a certain amount of enthusiasm for their work. He was not expecting the kid to turn around and attack.

Neither were the brigands. Besieged on one side by the stream of Trowa's too-accurate arrows, and facing a wildly-cheering boy wielding a rapier with deadly skill on the other, it was a matter of minutes before they all lay dead or dying on the trail, their horses scattered to the winds in fright.

The boy, breathing heavily but wearing a triumphant smile, dismounted, wiping his blade clean on one of the bodies. Sheathing it, he addressed the forest at large. "My thanks for the aid," he called.

Trowa blinked, reassessing the swordsman who was waiting expectantly for a reply. His voice and easy, confident manner were much more adult than he had expected... despite the blond's youthful looks, he was no callow aristocrat lost in the forest.

"Well? Are you going to say anything back?"

With a little shake of his head, Trowa emerged from his place of concealment in the trees. "One such as yourself should not be wandering about alone," he told the other man.

A broad smile crossed the beautiful, mobile face. "So you *are* real and not one of the fair ones..." he laughed. He paused. "Although you certainly look like one of the fey."

Trowa said nothing, content to merely lift an eyebrow.

The other man smiled at him charmingly. "My name's Quatre... Do you have a name, my unearthly friend?"

   


* * *

  
 

Calling out questions to the unresponsive forest, Quatre was seriously beginning to doubt that he would receive a reply when the tall, slender man clad in the soft greens and browns of nature stepped out into the road. A connoisseur of beauty in all its forms, he had to suck in an appreciative breath. To cover up his amazement, he greeted the ranger with his typical aplomb.

"My name is Trowa Barton," the man introduced himself.

"Glad to meet you, Trowa. I assure you, though, that I am perfectly capable of caring for myself." Quatre pasted his most charismatic smile on his face, already deciding that he had found the source of his next conquest. "However, I seem to be in your debt today... How shall I repay you?"


	3. Chapter 3

[10 May 1243 Post Alliance]

"Damn it, damn it, damn it!"

The screech of utter frustration echoed across the courtyard as a very exasperated woman paced up and down the paving stones, ranting and gesticulating angrily. "I don't need this! Why do I put up with this job?! A person of my skills could have a career with an emperor!" She raised her eyes to the heavens. "Why me?! What did I do to *deserve* such misfortunes?!"

"Istas, Istas, please," a man, looking harried and impatient, pleaded. "There's no need to work yourself into a state--just because four of the housekeepers quit at once and we're short five maids in no reason to panic--"

"No reason to panic?!" Istas screamed. "It's a *perfect* reason to panic! I'm the one responsible for keeping this castle clean and in running order, damn it! How can I *possibly* do that without a sufficiently large staff?!"

The man, who was one of the castle stewards, continued to try to placate the distraught woman. "I'm sure it will work out, Istas, just calm yourself--"

"Calm myself?! *Calm* myself?!" Istas was ready to launch into another tirade when she caught sight of a timid figure lurking at the edges of the courtyard. "You! Girl! What do you want?"

The young woman crept forward, anxiously smoothing her masses of chestnut hair. "I-If you please, ma'am, I was told that there are jobs to be had here at the castle," she whispered, dark blue eyes darting to and fro anxiously.

"Can you scrub a floor?" Istas demanded briskly, tantrum forgotten.

"Of course."

"You're hired. Come with me."

"Istas--Captain Yuy specifically ordered that no one be hired without his express approval," the steward said warningly.

Istas glared at him. "Hush, Wacamol. If Captain Yuy would like to fill in as a cleaning girl while he interviews all my prospects, he's perfectly welcome to. Until then, he can stay out of my way. Come, girl. What's your name?"

"You can call me Aminta..."

   


* * *

  
 

Swinging her legs over the side of the Telati wagon like one of the children in the caravan, Sally grinned at Cathrine. "So, you never did say where we're going."

Cathrine laughed. "Where ever the road takes us."

The healer considered this and added her own laughter to Cathrine's. "That sounds good... this one goes north, to Catalonia, doesn't it?"

Cathrine inclined her head. "Yes... it's somewhat more comfortable there... the people are sparser."

Sally nodded. "I see... Are you sure you don't mind me coming along?"

"Are *you* sure you want to come?" Cathrine countered. "Life on the road's hard, I told you that."

"I'm quite sure," Sally said determinedly.

"Then we're glad to have you..." The wagon crested a hill, and Cathrine pointed to faint blue shadows on the very edges of the horizon. "See those? Those are the Dragon's Spine. We'll be there in about four days."

"What will we do there?" Sally asked eagerly.

"The lord of Dragon Keep is getting married in a few days--We should be able to trade at the festival." Cathrine grinned in anticipation.

   


* * *

  
 

Trowa turned around, exasperated but also somewhat amused. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?" he asked he blond shadow.

"Hmmm?" Quatre tore his gaze away from the tight muscles flexing beneath the smooth surface of Trowa's skin. "No, not really." He smiled. "I'm my own man, my ranger friend... and you have yet to tell me how I may service you--er, be of service to you--for saving my life."

Trowa forced his face to remain carefully neutral. "That isn't necessary, Quatre."

"But it is! I can't put a stain on my honor by not repaying a debt," Quatre said smoothly. "It would ruin my good name." Mentally, he congratulated himself on the swift improvisation.

Trowa winced, knowing that he had lost the battle. *With any luck, he'll get bored if I don't give in to his advances...* "Fine. If your honor demands it, then I can't refuse."

Quatre positively glowed. "How should I do you first--I mean, what should I do for you first?"

*Oh, gods...* Trowa smirked slightly. "You can help me bury the bodies from yesterday."

Quatre's face fell immediately.

   


* * *

  
 

[11 May 1243 Post Alliance]

Meiran stopped short on the threshold of the training room, finding it already occupied. She recovered her composure swiftly. "I didn't realize *you* ever descended from your ivory tower to busy yourself with outside concerns," she remarked bitingly.

Wufei ignored her, continuing to work through the kata with concentration focused entirely on the motion of his body and his sword. Grudgingly, Meiran admitted to herself that he *did* seem to possess a certain level of skill--more, by far, than she would have given the scholar credit for knowing. Eventually, upon ending the kata, Wufei turned his attention to Meiran. "I don't spend *all* my time with my books, Lady Ron. To give le focus to any one area is a grave mistake, especially for a leader responsible for the welfare of his people."

Meiran's eyes narrowed. "Are you insinuating something, Chang?"

"Should I be, Lady Ron?" he retorted.

"There's nothing to imply," she snapped.

"Then don't be so defensive," Wufei shrugged.

"I'm not being defensive! You're the one hinting at things!" Meiran railed. "And, if I my remind you, sir, while we are on the training grounds, we are in *my* domain, not yours."

Wufei snorted. "You're too confident. It's foolish."

"Foolish?" Meiran's tone turned dangerously calm. "Shall we see who is foolish?"

Wufei paused. "If you think it will prove something."

"I think it will, at that." Meiran stepped into the large room and onto the mat. "Your preference?"

"Bare hands," he said evenly, walking off the mat to stow his sword away, then returning. They eyed each other warily, slowly bowing in accordance to form, then began circling each other, sizing up potential weaknesses. Then Meiran whipped forward, aiming a strike to Wufei's chest. He dodged, countering with a blow aimed at her head. She dropped out of harm's way, swiping a leg out in a move intended to take his feet from beneath him. He flipped out of the path of her leg before returning the favor.

Strike. Block. Strike. Dodge...

Ruefully, Meiran was beginning to wonder if she had underestimated the strength of her betrothed. For a man of a scholars' clan, he was amazingly proficient in the warriors' arts. Of course, he still hadn't managed to land a hit on her, either.

Strike. Block. Strike. Dodge...

"This is pointless, Meiran," Wufei said eventually, stepping back from the smooth punch intended for his solar plexus. "We're not proving anything by this."

"That is no less than what I expected of you," Meiran snorted, spinning out of the way of Wufei's roundhouse.

"Is there any way to be *reasonable* about this, or is that too much to ask?" Wufei inquired caustically. "We're only wasting our energy here."

"You can stop fighting. I won't, though," Meiran reminded him.

"We're going to be married in three days, Meiran. Do *you* want to spend the rest of our lives like this?"

"I didn't *ask* to be married off to you!" she flared.

Strike.

"Neither did I. The clan elders decided it was to be so, and it is our duty to obey them."

Block.

"I don't want to marry a weakling scholar!"

Strike.

Wufei smirked. "Are you *that* sure that I'm just a weakling bookish man now?"

Dodge.

Meiran glared at him. "I hate you."

Wufei grinned, ducking under a punch and seizing her wrist, using his leverage to pin her to the mat in one fluid motion. "Then we're pretty much even, Lady Ron."

Her eyes grew round with disbelief. "You--How?" she sputtered.

Wufei let her up. "A trick learned from a book. Good day, Lady Ron." He left the training room.

Meiran stamped her foot in a childish gesture of her pique. Strangely enough, it made her feel better.

   


* * *

  
 

"Thinking of him again, Father?" Iria asked respectfully, as the duke sighed.

He smiled at her wistfully. "So perceptive... just like your mother."

Iria dropped her gazes in faked modesty. "Thank you, Father."

"I just can't help wondering where it all went wrong," he said sadly. "He has everything a young man could want--So why force me to disinherit him by running off and behaving like a criminal?"

"Young men are sometimes like that, Father. No one knows what it is that makes them run wild," Iria counseled him.

"Such a wise girl you are... I ought to see about getting you a husband," her father said thoughtfully.

Iria sucked in a sharp breath. *NO! Not that, not now!*

He shook his head. "No, no, what am I thinking? Forgive your selfish father, Iria darling, I can't bear to give you away just yet... not when I depend on you so."

Iria sighed, relieved. "Let it be as you say, Father."

He smiled at her fondly. "Now, if only Quatre would come home... all would be forgiven."

Iria turned her eyes away carefully.

   


* * *

  
 

[12 May 1243 Post Alliance]

Striding down the hallway, Heero stopped short, eyes going cold. "You're new," he snapped, studying the servant girl kneeling next to a bucket intently.

Wide, frightened eyes of a vivid blue-violet darted up to meet his anxiously before falling away quickly. "Y-yes, sir," she stuttered, her voice a low, husky whisper.

Heero cursed. "I *told* them not to do this," he complained. "Who are you? Where are you from?"

"They call me Aminta, my lord.... I came from the lower city."

"Hn. Who hired you? What are your duties?"

"Istas, my lord. I clean the floors." She waved a hand at the bucket of soapy water.

"Istas." Heero glared and the girl cringed away automatically. "I should have known as much." He paused, and softened his expression in order not to terrorize the poor girl. "It's not your fault, although I will speak to Istas about her hiring practices... again..." He walked away briskly.

The servant on the floor smirked inwardly as Relena's chief guardian wolf moved away. For some reason, those in charge never paid attention to the people who kept things running smoothly for the ship of state... in all the years he had spent undercover for his ... jobs .... for Zechs, Heero Yuy was the first to even acknowledge his presence.

Or, rather, "Aminta's" presence.

Returning his attention to the floors, the assassin placed Heero on a higher rung of his personal ladder of respected figures.

   


* * *

  
 

[13 May 1243 Post Alliance]

"Tell me, Zechs, how are things going with the assignment I gave you?" Treize asked lazily, while admiring the deep red color of the wine in his crystal goblet.

"I sent my preferred agent, of course. Given his efficiency, he should be within the castle walls by now," Zechs said slowly. "Knowing him, he will have your ... obstacle... removed within a matter of days."

"You don't anticipate any difficulties?" Treize seemed skeptical.

"Yuy might prove troublesome, but given my agent's motivations, he will not fail," Zechs said confidently.

"Ah, yes, the price of failure... is high indeed." Treize smiled. "But that makes the game all the more exciting, don't you think?"

"Undoubtedly, sir."

"I shall send Une to Escand, so that the first report of success will be ours," Treize announced. "Do send her in on your way out, hm?"

"Yes, sir." Zechs bowed and exited.

Une entered a few minutes later. "Your Grace?"

"Ah, Lady Une, so good to see you rested. Would you be so good as to jaunt down to Escand for me? We're expecting exciting things for the Peacecraft duchy very soon."

Une's eyes glinted behind her glasses. "I'd be honored to do this for you, Your Grace. I shall depart at once."

"Thank you, Lady Une."

Alone once more in his study, Treize gazed into his wine, willing it to show him the future.

"...Papa?" came the childish, questing voice of his daughter.

Treize smiled without a hint of cynicism for the first time all day. "Mariemeia... come here and give me a hug."

Smiling gladly, his daughter did as bidden. "You never come to tuck me in at night," she scolded, squirming into a comfortable position on his lap.

Treize chuckled. "I'm a terrible father, then." He smoothed her hair. "I'm busy trying to make you into a princess, my dear."

Her nose wrinkled. "I'd rather you tucked me in."

"Such an impractical child. Don't you want to be a queen someday, Mariemeia?"

She shook her head. "I want to be a wizard when I grow up."

Treize smiled. "Then you shall be a wizard. And you can be a queen in your spare time."

Mariemeia considered this proposal. "Okay, that will work."

There was a tentative knock at the door before a woman cautiously entered. "Treize? Forgive me for disturbing you--ah, there you are, Mariemeia."

The little girl frowned. "I wanted to see Papa, Mama."

"It's all right, Leia," Treize told his wife gently. "I rather liked the surprise visit."

"Mmmm," Leia said noncommittally. "C'mon, Mariemeia, it's time for bed."

The girl pouted. "But--"

"No buts, child. Wizards and queens need their sleep," Treize admonished her. "Let's go... I'll tuck you in."

   


* * *

  
 

[14 May 1243 Post Alliance]

Relena sighed, snuggling a little on the arm of her consort as they walked the paths of the castle garden. "It's such a lovely night," she murmured, gazing up at the stars.

"Yes... although... I have one complaint," Ralph replied.

"And that is?" Relena inquired.

Her consort nodded his head to the path behind them. "That shadow of yours *really* makes a romantic mood impossible."

"Did you want me *not* to do my job?" Heero, walking a discreet ten paces behind the couple, snapped.

"No, Yuy, I just want to have an hour's peace with my wife," the annoyed man told him. "Is that so much to ask?"

"Yes."

Relena sighed. "Ralph, darling, you know that Heero, paranoid as he may be, is *convinced* that my life is in danger."

"It's not paranoia if you're right," came the nasal rejoinder. "Just ignore me, you two."

Ralph grimaced. "That is *it*. Heero. I am *ordering* you to take the night off. Go. Away."

"No."

"Relena, talk to him, *please*?" Ralph begged.

The duchess turned to face Heero. "Please... Heero, isn't there anyone you'd like to spend this evening with?"

"No. My life is your service," Heero replied stiffly.

Relena shook her head. "Heero, please... The two of us, just for a couple hours... let us be normal? Please?"

There was a long silence before Heero answered. "This goes against *all* of my principles."

"I understand, Heero... and you'd understand, too, if you had someone of your own," Relena smiled.

"Two hours. That's all." *And I'm staying in the area,* he added silently.

"Thank you, Heero."

"Thanks, Yuy."

The duchess and her consort watched with relief and a sense of giddy freedom as Heero melted and disappeared into the darkness. "I thought we'd never get rid of him," Ralph said contentedly. "He's *so* overprotective of you... Say, you don't think--"

"Absolutely not. He's just... driven by duty." Relena smiled sadly. "It's the only way he knows how to live."

"Pity. Well... where were we?" Ralph asked rakishly.

Relena giggled like a girl. "Oh, right abut here, I'd say," she told him, pulling him closer and fitting her arms around his body.

"Oh, I *see*... what the--" Ralph stiffened, pulling away from Relena. He reached for his shoulder, starting to speak, but crumpled to the ground in a boneless heap before the words left his mouth.

Relena screamed as loudly as she could, rushing to her consort's side. "Ralph? Ralph!"

"If I were you, Your Grace," drawled a lazy voice, "I'd forget *him* and worry about *me*."

Relena started, rolling away from Ralph's prone body instantly as she had been taught by Heero. The reflex saved her life, as a blade whistled through the space where her neck had been just moments before. Impossibly fast, the direction of the blade changed. This time, she was not quite swift enough, and it bit deeply into her side as she scrambled back.

"Who are you?" she demanded shrilly, pressing a hand to the tearing pain in her side. She was able to make out details of the assassin... a tall man, slender, with the green light that flickered across the curved blade of his--scythe?--reflecting in glittering violet eyes.

He laughed, tossing a long braid over one shoulder. "They call me Shinigami, Your Grace... Please don't take this personally."

He lunged forward, intent on finishing the job as he brought the scythe around in a sweeping arc.

A dark blur rolled between the assassin and Relena, bringing his own sword up to bear. Metal screamed against metal as Heero parried the blow. "You don't mind if *I* take it personally, I hope," the bodyguard growled. Then his eyes narrowed as he took in the features of the assassin. "You!"

The man laughed. "I *do* hope you had a word with Istas... it'd be a shame for this to happen again."

"Bastard--I'll kill you!" Heero wrenched his sword away from the scythe, bringing it back around in a massive strike.

The assassin dodged, no longer laughing. "A lot of people have promised me that, but they're all dead now," he said darkly. He swept the scythe over Heero's sword, trying to disarm the warrior.

"Well, I never break my promises," Heero smirked, as the garden began to fill with the light of torches and the shouts of soldiers. He twisted his sword around the scythe's blade in a parody of the other man's own action, and yanked the staff out of his hands through sheer physical force.

The assassin screamed a protest, dodging Heero's killing blow. "Bastard! I can't fail this mission!" He dove after the scythe, but Heero threw himself in his path. "You don't know what this means!"

"It means you die," Heero said coldly, raising his sword.

The violet eyes went flat as soldiers raced up the path. "If they die, I *will* hold you responsible," he growled, casting a handful of powder into the air.

"Shit!" Heero coughed as a cloud of smoke filled the air. As the night breeze wafted it away, he saw the assassin had vanished.

Heero looked to Relena and saw that the extent of her injuries were bad, but not beyond hope. "See to the duchess!" he yelled as the first soldiers burst onto the tableau. "I'm going after the assassin!"

Heero sprinted off into the darkness, swearing vengeance on the laughing assassin and already castigating himself for the lapse in his attention to duty that had allowed the entire scenario to occur.

   


* * *

  
 

A weary knock interrupted the idle chat between Treize ad Zechs. An exhausted Une stumbled into the study when so ordered.

"Well?" the duke asked.

"Your Grace... Duchess Relena Peacecraft was gravely, but not fatally, injured this evening by an unidentified assassin, who escaped without being apprehended. At last report, Heero Yuy was in pursuit," Une stated.

Zechs swore roundly as Treize sighed. "Thank you, Lady Une... You may retire."

"Thank you, sir." Une withdrew.

"This changes very little," Treize mused. "Relena is now incapacitated, at least for a while. The plan is still eminently feasible."

"Forgive me, sir. I never dreamed he'd fail--"

"He is only human, Zechs. However, I do suggest that you extract the penalty."

"First thing in the morning, sir."


	4. Chapter 4

[14 May 1243 Post Alliance]

The messenger brushed past the guardians and servants who sought to detain him. "I don't care if she's sleeping," he snapped angrily to the woman standing watch outside the grand double doors of the duchess's bedroom. "Her Grace gave me explicit orders to report to her immediately, and *I* do not wish to incur her displeasure."

The woman tried to reason with him. "But, sir--she's *engaged* at the moment."

He snorted. "Then she's not sleeping, is she? If you please, madam." He shouldered past the wincing woman and into Dorothy's inner sanctum.

The duchess was not currently entertaining, he noted, as the attendant outside had intimated. He coughed, announcing his presence. "Your Grace, an attempt was made this evening on the life of Relena Peacecraft," he said formally.

The girl sharing Dorothy's bed shrieked, startled by the intrusion, and clutched the sheets to her chest. The duchess herself merely snorted as she rose; with utmost disregard for the man's presence she selected a robe to throw over her body. "You said attempt, Ferdinand," she remarked. "I take it that the good woman survived?"

"Yes, she did. She sustained grave injuries, of course, and her recovery is expected to be slow without the benefits of a healer. The assassin escaped," Ferdinand elaborated.

"I see. I do believe this is what my dear cousin had wanted me to wait for." Dorothy smirked. "Rouse my general staff, Ferdinand."

He bowed. "At once, Your Grace."

   


* * *

  
 

Dressed much more conservatively, Dorothy swept into her study to find her commanders already waiting for her. "I have received my sign," she announced. "It is time to prepare the second strike." She moved to a map. "The bulk of our army will be placed at these points."

One of the younger generals spoke up. "Your Grace, those points are roads leading into Peacecraft."

"Congratulations, Vitel, you have a gift for the glaringly obvious," Dorothy retorted. "We will advance into Peacecraft at the moment we are fully assembled--"

"Your Grace, it is unheard of for one duchy to invade another," Vitel protested.

Dorothy sighed and turned to her bodyguards. "Remove him, please, he's useless."

"At once, Your Grace." Faces expressionless, the two men dragged the general from the room.

"I don't suppose the rest of you fine gentlemen have anything to add?" Dorothy inquired sweetly. Dead silence met her question. "I thought not."

   


* * *

  
 

[15 May 1243 Post Alliance]

Hirde settled herself more comfortably on the ground, relaxing her muscles and clearing her mind of all distractions. As her breathing and heartbeat slowed, her eyes slid shut and she began reaching for the words of the spell she needed.

Reaching. Searching.

There.

They felt cold and crystalline, immeasurably fragile against the brush of her mind's touch. Hirde smiled, a trifle pleased with herself. Evoking this spell was becoming easier each morning that she used it. But there would be enough time to exult later; for the moment she was more concerned with summoning her guide.

Hirde let herself slip into the easy cadence of the language of spell casters, careful to pronounce the words exactly as they felt to her. That was one of the drawbacks of being an evocationalist rather than a true wizard==spells came easily to most wizards, but evocationalists had to struggle with each arcane syllable, and failure was a frequent visitor.

Hirde grinned. *Not this morning,* she thought triumphantly, completing the spell and opening her eyes.

The tiny sprite reluctantly manifested with a swirl of wind, large eyes sullen and discontented. "You again? Wanting to know great secrets yesno? I can tell the not-wizard many secrets, yes?"

"No," Hirde told it firmly. "Tell me the location of Quatre Raberba Winner."

The sprite pouted. "Stupid boring not-wizard. He's in the place he is." It attempted to flit away, content that it had fulfilled its duties.

"Stop!" Hirde barked, and it slunk back guiltily. "No games this morning. Where is he?"

"You're no fun, no fun at all," it protested.

"Be that as it may, tell me, or I'll feed you to my horse," Hirde threatened.

The sprite guffawed. "Strange not-wizard. I'll tell, I'll tell... the one you seek is a day's travel to your east."

Hirde paused, trying to discern whether the sprite was playing another trick or not. "Fine. Go."

Giggling, the sprite whirled away, leaving the bounty hunter to her thoughts. If within a day's travel of Winner... that meant it as time to consider what to do when she found him.

   


* * *

  
 

"You know, Trowa, I'm beginning to think you don't like me," Quatre said lightly.

The ranger looked at him, seeming faintly amused. At least, Quatre assumed he was amused--it was sometimes hard to tell. "What makes you say that?"

"Well." Quatre held up a hand and began to enumerate his grievances, ticking them off on his fingers as he went. "First of all, you only speak when spoken too; you never laugh at a joke; I have yet to see you *smile*; you give me nothing but dirty, smelly, unpleasant tasks to do; and most normal humans would have let me seduce them three days ago!" He glared at Trowa petulantly. "You *don't* like me, do you?"

The ranger sighed. "I never said that."

"You never say anything!"

"I live in a forest. I'm not used to conversation," Trowa pointed out.

"Then you *do* like me?" Quatre pressed. He seemed on the verge of pouncing the ranger right then.

Trowa took the precaution of retreating several feet. "... I suppose."

Quatre beamed. "Well, good. I was starting to get discouraged."

Trowa shook his head. "You don't believe in hiding how you feel, do you?"

Quatre grinned. "Not at all. I had my fill of saying what I don't mean and hiding how I feel while I was growing up." He smiled.

"Hn." Trowa shook his head and busied himself with the inspection of his bow.

Quatre huffed in annoyance. "There you go again, with the ignore Quatre routine. We were *communicating*, don't stop now!"

"Just because I am not looking directly at you does not mean I am ignoring you," Trowa said absently.

Quatre frowned. "You think that if you don't pay attention to me, I'll go away, don't you?"

"The thought had crossed my mind."

Quatre smirked. "Just so you know, I *really* enjoy a challenge."

"I'm glad for you. Why don't you pay some attention to your horse? He's favoring his left front leg."

Quatre made a face at Trowa, but left the subject for the time being.

   


* * *

  
 

"There it is." Cathrine pointed ahead, to the monstrous double gates set in what seemed like the solid side of a mountain.

"It's huge." Sally couldn't quite keep the awe from her voice as she stared at the fortress soaring into the sky. "I've never seen anything like it."

Cathrine chuckled. "It's impressive, all right. They don't open it up to visitors often, that's for sure. You picked a good time to hitch a ride with us."

Sally smiled. "I haven't regretted it yet."

The caravan fell in with the line of people progressing forward at barely more than a crawl to the plain before the gates. "This must be a large festival," Sally noted.

"Yes. No. It's more that the clans rarely ever let outsiders enter their gates," Cathrine shrugged. "They're very wary. Have a real superiority complex, too. But they pay well enough to make the hassle worthwhile."

"So most of the people here are merchants?"

Cathrine's eyes roved up and down the lines of people. "Well... that's what most of them say they are," she replied neutrally.

"So they're not."

"Probably not." Cathrine thought about saying more to the healer, but decided against it. No need to alarm the woman (assuming, of course, she even knew of the political tensions between the duchies). She would, however, head around to the other wagons and have a word with each of her people about the soldiers sneaking in undercover as rogues and traders. She didn't *think* any of the duchies would be foolish enough to break the neutrality of Dragon Keep, but it never hurt to be cautious.

As they passed by the gates with their huge carvings of dragons in flight, the Telati made a superstitious sign against evil.

Sometimes legends contained a kernel of truth, after all.

   


* * *

  
 

*Strange that he didn't go to ground,* Heero thought, bent low over the neck of his galloping horse. The warrior knew that he was good, but if would have been nearly impossible for him to have hunted the assassin down if the braided man had chosen to melt into the mass of people in Escand, or if he had veered off the main road. As it was, however, this Shinigami was riding in a beeline straight for Khushrenada, barely stopping long enough to switch horses.

*Khushrenada.* That in itself was damning enough, in Heero's mind. Unfortunately, even the vindication of his suspicions about Treize's intentions were not enough to assuage his guilt.

*I never should have left my post.*

*It's my fault.*

*If there is war, it comes from my failure.*

*I must atone for my failure.*

*Shinigami, I will kill you.*

   


* * *

  
 

*Today is the day.*

Meiran crushed the urge to groan and instead buried her face in her pillow. Her servants would come to wake her soon enough, she supposed. She didn't want to hurry them too much.

She sighed heavily. *All those years, spent training, proving to my clan that a woman can be just as strong a warrior... for nothing. I still get handed off like a piece of land to seal a contract. It's injustice! And that--man! He infuriates me! Always so smug, so detached--the only emotions he ever shows is anger. How can I possibly marry such a man? He doesn't even value his own accomplishments as a source of pride...*

Meiran growled quietly. Wufei hadn't said anything at all to her about that humiliating exercise in the practice rooms. In a way, it was comforting to know that her degraded status was not to be broadcast. Yet every time she looked at him she could only remember that he *had* beaten her, and now that too would be between them.

"It shouldn't *be* this way," Meiran muttered miserably.

   


* * *

  
 

*Today is the day.*

Wufei sighed, staring blindly out his window as the first light of sunrise began to creep across the craggy landscape.

*We're too alike, both too stubborn and too proud, to unwilling to bend at all. Neither wants to seem weak before the other, so we go on fighting against each other and unbreakable tradition. Fools. We're both fools.*

What was really ridiculous was that he knew, somehow, that if he and Meiran could get past the barriers, *something* good could come of it.

"It shouldn't be this way," he mumbled absently.

   


* * *

  
 

"Father."

"Yes, Iria, what is it?"

Iria cast her features into a suitably grave expression. "Father, a courier report this morning says that Relena Peacecraft was gravely injured by an assassin last night."

The duke was shocked. "An assassin?! Hurt that child? Good heavens, the world must be going mad. Send a letter at once, of course, and tell them how positively outraged we are."

"Yes, Father, I'll see to it." Iria smiled faintly. "I'll draft it up immediately."

   


* * *

  
 

Sally surveyed herself. "I feel ridiculous like this," she informed Cathrine.

"Nonsense, you look fine," Cathrine reassured her.

Sally shook her head. "I'm barely dressed!"

Cathrine leered. "All the better to show off with, my dear. Don't worry so much, you look good, really you do."

Sally made a face. "You're only saying that because I'm dressed the same way you are."

"It's still the truth. Anyway, enough talk, it's suitable clothing for a celebration, and you don't have any other clothes for a performance."

"Performance?" Sally repeated numbly as Cathrine grabbed her and half-dragged her from the wagon.

"Of course! Any time we go out in public, it's a performance."

   


* * *

  
 

Noin read the dispatch from Peacecraft, nausea churning her stomach with each terse, informative line. Already the decision to tacitly support Treize with her passive neutrality sickened her, taunting her with her own impotence. She and Relena had practically grown up together, had giggled together about boys and speculated what it would be like to someday rule a duchy. She'd been within a few months of marrying Relena's brother, uniting Noin and Peacecraft with ties of blood, before Milliard had gone off at Treize's invitation and then broken off ties with his family.

"It was only logical, Your Grace," Herot pointed out gently. "Khushrenada has his pieces all in place, and is ready to move. I'm sure you knew that he would strike at Peacecraft first."

Noin nodded absently. "Yes, yes, I knew in the abstract, of course, but it's only just hitting home... They said Relena will survive--a relief--but I wonder if he'll make a second attempt."

Herot shrugged. "Difficult to say. Since her recovery is expected to be slow, maybe not. I suspect he really only wanted to cripple Peacecraft."

"Ah." Noin thought about it for a while. "I expect the next message will tell us that troops are moving against Peacecraft."

Her general nodded. "You are probably correct."

Noin frowned. "Herot, what is the status of Noin's army?"

"Your Grace--"

"What is the status, Herot?" Noin snapped. She winced, and softened her tone. "Please, Herot."

"If we mobilized *now*, and pushed hard... we might be able to reach Peacecraft at about the same time as Duke Khushrenada." Herot laid a gnarled hand on Noin's shoulder. "Your Grace--"

"Herot, I will not allow Treize to trample over me and my duchy just because we are the weakest of the five!" Noin flared. "Peacecraft and Noin have been allies for centuries, and I'll be damned if I'll be the one to let that tradition fall by the wayside."

"Your Grace... you do know that we cannot win."

Noin sagged in her chair. "Yes, old friend, I know... but we shouldn't let Treize have his way simply because he and Dorothy have the superior forces. He may have his way with the duchies, but it will not be unopposed." Her lips thinned. "Mobilize the troops. We're going to Peacecraft's aid, and I only hope that we're not too late to be of any use."

Herot lifted his hand away from the duchess's shoulder. "As you wish, Your Grace." He turned to go, then turned back with a weary smile. "It's about time someone stood up to Duke Khushrenada. We'll give him hell for you, Your Grace."

Noin smiled tightly. "I know. I'm going to be going with you."

   


* * *

  
 

While her companion alternated between embarrassment regarding her "immodest" clothing and eagerly observing the spectrum of people at the festival, Cathrine concerned herself with scrutinizing the crowd. She disliked what she saw--soldiers, and many of them, mingling too casually with more innocent people. This preoccupation bled over into her transactions with various dealers, so much that several of her bargains were barely that. Even Sally noticed. "What's wrong?"

Cathrine brushed it aside. "Nothing important, don't worry about it."

Sally snorted, but held her peace.

   


* * *

  
 

"No sign of him?"

The soldier shook his head. "No, my Lord. All reports indicate that he road east, in pursuit of the assassin."

Ralph shook his head, trying to dispel the lingering headache that was an aftereffect of the drug the assassin had inflicted upon him. "Fine. Either he'll track down the assassin and take steps, or he'll conclude that his services are more necessary here." *And the gods help us if he decides to kill the ones responsible...*

The soldier shifted uneasily. "My Lord, there are other reports... our operatives in both Catalonia and Khushrenada ... report mobilization of the armies."

"Of course... we all know Treize was more complex in his plans--a direct assassination isn't his style." Ralph paused. "What are the estimates for their arrival?"

"For the Catalonian troops--they should be in Peacecraft within three days. Treize's troops will be in the country within in two, and we can expect the Specials to be knocking on our gates a week after that."

"Understood. And, of course, *we* don't have a standing army of any threatening size..." Ralph resisted a deep-seated urge to groan. "You are dismissed, sir."

The man bowed and departed, and Ralph left the room, heading for the suite where doctors were tending to Relena. Guards filled halls in a belated effort to protect the duchess's life. It was a little like cutting off the monster's head after it had eaten the princess, in Ralph's opinion, but it improved morale among the ranks of those who had suffered a keen blow to their honor and pride.

The doctor attending Relena awarded Ralph a severe glare. "No talk of politics."

Relena, pale against her pillows, protested. "Pargan! I have to know what's happening! You can't expect me to govern if Ralph doesn't brief me!"

Pargan shook his head. "Don't be a fool. You're in no condition to govern, young lady, and that is why your consort is doing it for you. Your job now is to concentrate on healing up."

Relena glared at the doctor. "You beastly man, you must be the only one impertinent enough to order your duchess around like that."

Unperturbed, Pargan shrugged. "May I remind you, young lady, that it was I who delivered you... and my authority as your doctor is absolute. No politics in the sickroom."

Relena smiled. "You old tyrant."

"Was there something, Your Grace?"

"Just a little politics? Please? For me?" she coaxed winningly. "So that I can have an idea about what's happening to my duchy?"

Pargan stared at her, astonished. Then he chuckled. "You haven't changed one bit since you were a child." Relena smiled at him sweetly, and batted her eyes for effect. "Only a few minutes, then you rest."

"Thank you, Pargan." As the doctor left, her expression turned serious. "What's happening?"

Ralph seated himself closer to the bed. "Heero's missing, and it looks like Dorothy and Treize are getting ready to invade Peacecraft."

Relena smiled sardonically. "And what's the bad news?"

"Our standing army is miniscule and large composed of either old men or green boys, and Escand and the castle are pretty much unprepared for any sort of siege," Ralph continued. "Our commanding officers are at their wits' ends, and--"

"Enough, I'm sorry I asked." Relena sighed, closing her eyes wearily. "How are the people?"

"Outraged, shocked, angry..." Ralph shrugged. "We've downplayed it as much as possible, of course, and they don't know how close it was."

His wife nodded. "Appropriate, of course. Start mustering the army as best as possible without creating too much alarm. Gods. War. What the hell's Treize *thinking*?"

"Power is what he's thinking about, Relena, I think that's always been his focus." Ralph paused. "And I believe that your brother craves the same thing."

Relena winced. "Milliard... this certainly makes it difficult to keep faith in him, doesn't it?"

"In Zechs, yes... maybe not so much for Milliard."

"I don't understand it, Ralph... I just don't understand it," Relena said tiredly. "Why doesn't he stop Treize?"

Ralph took her hand, rubbing soothing circles into her palm with his thumb. "I don't know... maybe you'll have a chance to ask him."

Relena looked away. "That's what I'm afraid of."

   


* * *

  
 

A lesser man would have fallen out of the saddle after spending fifteen hours riding furiously (and after a full day's work scrubbing floors, to boot). But the man hunched over in the saddle, braid whipping behind him like a pennant as he urged the horse to its limit, was by no means ordinary. What was more, he had a desperate desire to reach his home before--

*I don't care what happens to me, live or die, it doesn't matter, just as long as they don't suffer for my crimes.*

There was a sliver of hope, that if just long enough a time elapsed before news of Relena's survival reached Zechs, he'd have time to warn--

It was barely more than a ghost of hope, but the only thing he had to cling to.

He smiled, faintly, despite the grim circumstances. At least he'd never have to work for Zechs ever again, one way or another.

If only he hadn't underestimated Heero Yuy... that had been his only mistake.

He promised himself that it was the only time he'd ever do that.

   


* * *

  
 

"My Lord--"

Wufei turned from his window. "Yes, I know. The sun is almost setting."

"Marriage is not the end of the world, my Lord."

Wufei snorted. "Yes, but it may be the end of *me*. But the rite can't be delayed, I know." Moving carefully in his ceremonial finery, he followed his manservant to the outdoor pavilion, where he and Meiran would wed beneath the light of the setting sun and rising moon.

   


* * *

  
 

"I can't believe we got this close to the pavilion with all these people," Sally murmured, pressed close to Cathrine.

"Mm." Cathrine looked around. "You know, maybe the view would be better a little further back."

"Don't be silly," her companion laughed. "The view's great, here!"

   


* * *

  
 

So few minutes of freedom left... Meiran glared at the western skies, willing the sun to stop in the sky. It was a useless thing to do, of course, but it was all she had. *Anything. I'd do anything to be able to get out of this idiotic marriage.*

Her grandmother smiled at her. "Don't fret so, child. Arranged marriages are hard at first, but it *will* get easier."

Meiran snorted and watched as Wufei marched to his place before the cleric. Her grandmother elbowed her gently, and the young woman sighed and began the final march to her doom. Her only comfort stemmed from the fact that Wufei looked as uncomfortable as she.

   


* * *

  
 

"You know, Sal, I've been thinking... this is gonna be boring, why don't we cut out early? I've got a skin of wine, we can have our own party back at the camp," Cathrine said suddenly.

Sally gave her an incredulous look. "Are you insane? Besides, the crowd's so thick we'd never get back there now."

"Gods, I hope you're wrong," Cathrine said urgently, grabbing her hand. "Look, don't argue, just--"

But it was too late.

The men who had been jostling for a better view of the wedding pavilion let out a sudden, startling roar, producing weapons that had been hidden away.

   


* * *

  
 

Staring down at his and Meiran's clasped right hands, Wufei contemplated the ceremony. *So much preparation for such a minor thing,* he thought idly as the cleric blessed the red ribbon tying them together. Then, following the formula, he said the words. "I, Wufei Chang, take Meiran Ron as my wife and lady."

Meiran ground the words out from between gritted teeth. "I, Meiran Ron, take Wufei Chang as my husband and lord--What the hell?"

"Who would dare--" Wufei snarled, turning to glare out across the courtyard. Then his eyes widened as he understood what he saw.

Dragon Keep was under attack, and the invaders were already within the gates.

   


* * *

  
 

All of a sudden the life she'd known in Peacecraft took on a new perspective for Sally. Shrieking, she ducked a sword. "Cat, I think I've changed my mind!"

"Too late!" the woman yelled back, leaping out of a soldier's way. "Head for the gates!"

As the soldiers pressed forward, sweeping her along, Sally struggled against the tide. "Yeah, sure, I'd love to! Any clue how?"

Having a similar problem, Cathrine shook her head. "I was hoping you knew--Duck!"

   


* * *

  
 

Twisting her hand free from the symbolic ribbon, Meiran howled indignantly. "Injustice!"

The courtyard was swiftly changing into a chaotic bloodbath, as soldiers turned on civilians or rushed the pavilion. Small knots of the keep's own soldiers fought back, but, isolated from one another by the enemy, they were swiftly being pulled under. Screaming innocents were rushing for the gates, but the invaders were already closing them.

And Meiran--his wife, a tiny part of Wufei's mind reminded him-was rushing forward, as if she could turn back an army by herself. But arms were grabbing her, grabbing him, pulling them away from the pavilion, and Wufei looked at his manservant and saw the grim expression on his face.

Meiran struggled, still yelling, until one of Wufei's men slapped her. Wufei winced. "My lady, you must escape," the man said urgently. "Forgive my impertinence, but you must go, now!"

Wufei had to argue this. "No! I am not leaving my people to die!"

One of the men pulling them away from immediate danger shook his head, no. "You must carry on the line of the dragons. Avenge us if you must, but you must live on!"

And then a door was opening in a wall to a passage Wufei had known nothing about, and he and Meiran were being shoved through, and the darkness swallowed them both.

   


* * *

  
 

"Shit!" Sally screamed and punched the warrior who had just tried to decapitate her. "Ow! Damn it!" She shook her stinging hand.

"Nice uppercut you've got there!" Cathrine commented, seeing a break in the crowd and dodging through it.

"Thanks." Sally gasped. "They're closing the gates!"

"So move faster, damn it!" Cathrine yelled. "C'mon!"

*We'renotgonnamakeitwe'renotgonnamakeitwe'renotgonnamakeit.*

"Faster!"

*We'renotgonnamakeitwe'renotgonnamakeitwe'renotgonnamakeit.*

"Duck!"

*We'renotgonnamakeitwe'renotgonna--*

"We're through!" Sally panted, as a few stragglers sprinted out the gates behind them.

Then the doors thundered shut with implacable finality.

Cathrine looked back, then at Sally, horror in her eyes as screams continued to echo from beyond the barrier. "My *tribe*."

They set off at a run for the camp.

   


* * *

  
 

"Let me out, damn you!" Wufei pounded ineffectually on the wall.

"They probably can't even hear you," Meiran said. "Give it up."

"No, my people--my people--" Wufei could feel his voice wanting to break, so he swore instead. "Somebody is going to pay *dearly* for this."

"That is the first sensible thing I've ever heard you say," Meiran said, voice a little too calm. "Do you know where we are?"

"This place is honeycombed with secret passages and no one knows all of them," Wufei said tiredly. "The only way to find out is to follow it."

"Let's get started."

There was a moment of fumbling in the pitch blackness, before Wufei barked out an order. "Shield your eyes."

"Why?"

"Just *do* it." There came a stream of unintelligible words, followed immediately by Meiran's vitriolic curses as the effects of Wufei's light spell hit her sensitized eyes. "Idiot, I told you to cover your eyes."

"And I don't take unexplained orders from anyone, even if he *is* my husband!" she snapped.

A startled silence, then Wufei nodded. "Fair enough. Let's go."

   


* * *

  
 

Four.

Sally kept a hand on Cathrine's shoulder, trying to say by touch what words couldn't adequately express.

Six, including them. Six strained, grief-stricken faces huddled around a tiny fire. Out of how many, Sally wondered. Thirty? Forty? It was hard to say, the children had made an accurate count impossible, running about as they had...

An old, toothless man who'd slept the afternoon away.

A young woman, heavily pregnant, who'd elected to stay off her feet.

A young boy, being punished for some transgression or another.

And the man who'd gone back to the wagons because he'd "had a funny feeling."

"Where'd you learn to punch someone like that?" Cathrine rasped, breaking the silence.

"I grew up with brothers," Sally said softly. "They treated me like just another boy."

"I thought... you didn't have family," the young woman across the fire ventured.

"Not anymore... a plague took them when I was fifteen. That's how I came to be a healer."

"I see... I'm sorry."

"Me, too."

Silence again, till the old man spoke up. "Where is everybody?"

"They aren't coming back," Sally said shortly.

"Why would anyone *do* this?" Sally whispered.

"That's what we want to know, too."

   


* * *

  
 

They'd argued long and hard, in fierce whispers, when the cobwebby tunnel had finally spit them out on the rocky plain before the dragon gates. Meiran had wanted to approach one of the handful of scattered campfire--to reconnoiter, she said. Wufei was adamantly against it.

In the end, she had just marched away, and Wufei had followed here, muttering imprecations under his breath the whole way. And then, after eavesdropping, she'd baldly invited herself into the conversation.

Wufei prepared himself for a fight, promising himself that he'd kill his wife later.

The headwoman of the tribe leapt to her feet, face angry. "Who are you?"

"Wufei. Meiran. Refugees, like yourself." Wufei nearly chocked on that as Meiran said it.

The tiny group relaxed, slowly. "Then you're welcome. I'm Cathrine Bloom."

Wufei and Meiran entered the circle, warily, as Cathrine introduced the remnants of her tribe. "I must say it's an honor to have the Dragon Lord and Lady at my fire."

"What the--How did you know?" Wufei demanded.

Cathrine pointed to the ribbon still dangling from his wrist. "Lucky guess."

"Ah."

"I still don't know why anyone would do that," Sally mourned.

"Consolidation of power," Meiran said tersely.

"You think that--" Cathrine jerked here head at the keep "was because of the war brewing."

"Yes. Even neutrality can only be a temporary shield." Meiran gave Wufei a significant look.

He stayed silent.

"Catalonian soldiers, probably," Cathrine said quietly. "I'd like to make them pay..."

"I *am* going to make them pay," Wufei said softly. "There will be justice for my people... and yours, if you'll help me."


	5. Chapter 5

[16 May 1243 Post Alliance]

Quatre pouted over breakfast. "I'm telling you, I *was* cold last night," he protested.

Busy with the food, Trowa shook his head. "Then you should carry more blankets in your gear. I'm *not* going to let you sleep in *my* bedroll whenever you claim you're cold."

"You're making this very difficult for me," Quatre announced.

"Good." Trowa smirked. "Maybe you'll give up?"

"No chance. Your ass is mine, even if you don't know it yet," Quatre said comfortably. "More coffee?"

"Please."

"So, what are we going to do today?" Quatre inquired, refilling the ranger's cup. "Something unpleasant for me, I expect."

Trowa frowned. Truthfully, he was beginning to run out of creative tasks to inflict upon Quatre. "We're ... moving camp."

Quatre grinned. "You know, Tro, whenever you start running low on chores, I can give you a few ways to keep busy."

"That won't be--what?" Trowa stopped as the expression on Quatre's face went from a leer to a still, concentrating mask.

"...Something's wrong..."

That was all the warning Trowa received.

   


* * *

  
 

*Two... why on earth are there two of them?* Hirde wondered, using all her skills to observe the two men and their camp. *And which one is Winner?*

Of course, the blond *was* wearing clothing that wasn't very suitable for forestry--he looked rather like a tropical parrot--and he also had a slight accent, one a little more refined and culture than his companion's. The conversation itself clinched the matter. Winner was the blond, and his companion was probably just another conquest.

*Well, at least I know I've got the right guy,* Hirde thought grimly. *Sorry, Mister Winner, but you've bedded your last lover.*

She lifted her right hand, palm up, and concentrated, evoking her favorite weapon. *So this is what it feels like to be an assassin...*

Hirde lobbed the small blue sphere of light at the campfire.

   


* * *

  
 

Trowa's eyes widened as Quatre blurred into action, leaping to his feet and bounding across the distance between them. "What--?" His breath whooshed from his lungs as Quatre tackled him. "Quatre, I told you I'm not--"

The campfire exploded, reflecting in blue eyes that were no longer laughing. "I know you want me, Tro, but now *really* isn't the time." the words were carefree, but Quatre wasn't smiling anymore. Somehow, the grim expression on his face unnerved Trowa more than the exploding campfire had.

Quatre rolled off Trowa, coming smoothly to his feet, drawing his rapier and scanning the surrounding forest.

Trowa climbed to his own feet, looking about warily.

   


* * *

  
 

*Damn it, how does he do that?* Hirde frowned. She was reasonably certain that she hadn't made any noise... But then Winner was known for his uncanny ability to "predict" the future. *Just stay grouped together like that, boys, and it'll all be over soon...*

   


* * *

  
 

"Split up," Quatre hissed. "Another blast like that'll take us both down if we stay this close." Suiting action to words, he immediately began edging away from Trowa.

"Just who *are* you, anyway?" Trowa snapped, moving away from the blond.

"How do you know that this isn't from someone you've pissed off?" Quatre retorted.

"I don't *have* that many enemies! Just a few poachers who don't have the resources to hire a wizard."

"Oh, so it's all *my* fault, I see..." Quatre made a face. "Make it through this alive and I'll explain."

"I look forward to it."

   


* * *

  
 

*Of _course_ they're not going to cooperate with me,* Hirde thought wryly. *Fine. Should I concentrate on Winner or Bang-boy?*

She hesitated, then forced the words of the fire spell to the fore of her mind.

   


* * *

  
 

*Wizards. I hate wizards,* Trowa decided as the gout of flame streamed out of the trees to his left. One part of his mind noted how Quatre acted a moment before the fire actually erupted, while another part of him was tracking the source of the peculiar blue flames before melting into the underbrush himself.

   


* * *

  
 

*This must be the reason the bastard's still alive,* Hirde thought, frustrated. *How the _hell_ does he _do_ that?* She shook her head as Quatre reacted before her attack, and immediately followed the stream of fire with a rain of ice arrows. *I'd better end this fast, I can't keep evoking at this pace...* "Where'd the hell Bang-boy go? Shit..."

"My name is *Trowa*," a level voice told her, before something solid connected firmly with her temple.

   


* * *

  
 

"A *woman*?" Quatre was outraged. "They sent a *woman*?!"

Trowa, having dragged the unconscious wizard out of the forest and trussed her up, gave Quatre an amused look. "You don't have to sound so insulted."

"But--a *woman*? They just don't care about me any more," Quatre mourned.

"They who?"

Quatre's eyes went empty again. "My beloved sisters."

Trowa blinked. "About that explanation you mentioned..."

"Yes?"

"It's going to take a while, isn't it?"

Quatre nodded. "Yeah."

"Then we'd better sit down, hadn't we?"

Quatre sat, drawing his knees into his chest and wrapping his arms around them, in a strangely defensive posture. "You never did ask me for my full name."

Trowa shrugged. "You obviously didn't want to tell me."

"I'm Quatre Raberba Winner." Quatre waited, watching Trowa's reaction.

"..." Trowa paused, obviously trying to find the right words. "As in...?"

"I'm the only son. He's pretty old-fashioned most duchies tend to ignore the gender when it comes to the heir. Winner is different. I'm the youngest child, but my father believes that only a man can effectively rule. So my sisters were passed over in my favor. They're very bitter, of course, and all my life they've made that very clear to me."

"If you're the heir..."

"Why am I running around in a forest by myself?" Quatre smiled tiredly. "When I was about eighteen, Iria--she's the oldest, by the way--made her first attempt on my life. I couldn't take it any more, so I left. As it turned out, I have a real talent for life lived by one's wits. Of course, I'm a disgrace to the family name, but I gave up caring a long time ago. Every once in a while, I have to deal with that--" he pointed at the unconscious woman "--but, by and large, I prefer it to life in Chanth."

"I can see why you didn't want to tell me." Trowa looked down. "What do we do with her?"

"I usually kill them." Quatre almost laughed at Trowa's shocked expression. "But even I wouldn't kill a defenseless woman."

"'m not *that* defenseless," she slurred.

"Maybe not, but that's beside the point. What's your name, wizard?" Quatre inquired.

"Evocationalist. Shit. People always assume I'm a wizard," she grumbled. "Hirde Schbeiker."

"Iria sent you? Or was it Kalia this time? This is hardly Darima's style, so I'm guessing it wasn't her... Jisla, maybe?"

"Iria, you got it right the first time. I'm curious, what *are you going to do with me?"

"Strip you naked and leave you tied to a tree."

"Quatre!"

Quatre held up a hand. "Joking. Although it *would* be funny."

Hirde sputtered. "Kill me if you want, but at least leave me my dignity!"

"So how much is Iria paying this time?" Quatre asked casually. Hirde named the sum, and he winced. "There went Kalia's dowry." He stared off into space. "I'll give you half again--and your life, of course--if you do me a favor."

"I don't want to get involved in your family's politics any more than I already have," Hirde spat.

"How unfortunate for you, because at this point, you no longer have a choice." Quatre fished a chain out from beneath his shirt and pulled it over his head. Holding it up, he allowed both Hirde and Trowa to inspect the ring dangling from the chain. "This is my personal seal. My father had it designed for me when I turned sixteen. It's the only one of its kind in existence. Deliver this to Iria. Let them think that I'm dead."

Hirde was quiet for a long moment. "You don't want to do that. You don't want her to end up taking over."

"It's her right, she was born first, and I don't want it." Bitterness flitted across Quatre's face. "Let them fight one another like dogs, I don't care. Dodging assassins, while invigorating, becomes annoying." He got up, rummaged through his pack, and removed the pouch containing the booty he'd stolen from the baron of Far Reach. "This should cover it, and more. Think of it as a fee for having to put up with Iria again. Untie her, Trowa."

"Quatre--"

"Just do it." Quatre dropped the seal and payment in front of Hirde and turned away. "Don't argue, please?"

Trowa looked at Quatre, then at Hirde. "What if... you could stop it for good?"

   


* * *

  
 

They set out before sunrise, fearful that the Catalonian occupation force would send detachments to eliminate those who had escaped the previous day's bloodbath. Cathrine sent the remnants of her tribe south in one wagon, giving them instructions about their destination that Sally didn't quite follow.

Truthfully, very little made sense to Sally anymore. What had started out as a grand adventure had swiftly degenerated into a nightmare, and she hated it. Sleep had only come after much tossing and turning, and her dreams had been stalked by the horror of the memories... Several times she had woken. During the last, she had heard Cathrine's muffled sobs. Somehow, it became easier to sleep once she had moved her bedroll closer to Cathrine's and reached out a hand to the other woman's...

"They don't like each other very much, do they?" Sally commented, watching the stiff backs of the Dragon Lord and Lady.

"I think they can barely stand each other," Cathrine replied. "But arranged marriages are like that, sometimes. I'm glad mine wasn't."

"Eh?" Sally looked at Cathrine, who shrugged. "I had thought--"

"No, it was arranged, but he was good to me, so I didn't regret it too much. Sometimes you get lucky, sometimes you don't... and it looks like *they* didn't."

"Yeah... have they even spoken to each other since last night?"

"No. Bedded down on opposite sides of the fire, too, if you noticed."

"Oh, I saw... Where are we going again?"

Cathrine shook her head. "To see if there's a reason why it's called Dragon Keep."

Sally puzzled over that for a while. "You don't mean--"

"He seems to know what he's talking about, and, frankly, I don't have anything to lose."

   


* * *

  
 

Wufei, listening to the quiet whispers behind him, wondered why he had felt it necessary to invoke their aid the previous evening. He and Meiran were more than capable of making the journey by themselves... Perhaps it had been the kindred bond of loss that had provoked it. Or maybe it was just that he didn't want to spend that much time with Meiran without a relatively neutral third party there to mediate. Yes, that was probably it. *I'm weak.* Wufei sighed. At least Cathrine had been generous enough to provide more appropriate clothing, although the choice of white had seemed to appall her...

Meiran wore white, too.

*I wonder how she feels... At least I had no close relatives in my clan... just a few cousins. But her entire family was there, to see her married... Heh. No wonder she's silent.*

Wufei stole a glance at Meiran. He would have said something, had even opened his mouth, but words failed him. There was nothing to convey adequately what he felt--that he was sorry, sorry that he'd been stubborn about keeping their clans isolated from the rest of the world, that he was sorry about her family, that he was sorry that he wasn't the husband she had wanted...

*At least I'll be able to extract some sort of justice for this atrocity.*

   


* * *

  
 

*I didn't want _that_ to happen.*

*I just didn't want to marry him... I just wanted him and his stiff-necked clan to wake up and realize that they weren't alone in the world.*

*I just wanted to be able to live my own life.*

*I didn't want them to die.*

*I didn't want that.*

*I didn't mean it.*

Meiran shook her head. There would be time later, for the guilt and the mourning. For now, she had to be strong, strong so that she and Wufei and the two strange women cold deliver justice for their lost kin.

   


* * *

  
 

He was making time on Shinigami. Heero was so tired that the thought barely made an impression on him, but nonetheless, it was true. If what he was forcing out of various confused peasants was true, then he was perhaps half an hour behind the braided man.

*When I catch him, what am I going to do, fall asleep and hope I hit him while I'm falling flat on my face?*

He snickered at himself and steadied himself in his saddle. *With any luck Shinigami will be exhausted, too... I _am_ impressed, not many people could sustain this...*

It was still dark--the sun hadn't even begun to think about rising.

*Maybe this is an endurance contest... Heh... Amazing, the things that you think about after this many hours of not sleeping...*

*I need a nap...*

He almost missed it, in his sleep-deprived haze.

   


* * *

  
 

Too late.

Too damned late.

He would have cried, but all his tears had left him years ago. So he just sat, cradling Sister Helen's head in his lap, staring vacantly down at her face, which was serene even in death. Were those his fingers smoothing the grey-blonde curls framing her face? It must be so, because there was no one else alive to be doing it...

He was too late.

"You probably prayed for them, right up to the last, didn't you?" he whispered, letting his mouth ramble on and on, so that his ears wouldn't have to listen to the silence. "Yeah, you probably did, that was your style, always repay evil with good... I was a bad student, wasn't I? I gave evil for good. I never meant to, I'm sorry... I wish you'd never taken me in. Maybe you all would have stayed safe that way. I tried to protect you, but I guess Shinigami just isn't the guardian type, eh?"

There was a sound beyond his own voice, breaking the silence. Horse's hooves. He lifted his head tiredly, wondering who would be abroad at such an early hour.

The figure was slight, and wobbled as it dismounted its horse. He blinked, and recognition slowly dawned as Heero Yuy staggered through the darkness.

The assassin lowered his head, waiting.

   


* * *

  
 

Smoke, still lingering in the morning air, tainting it with the charred odor of burnt wood... and something else.

Blood and death, the stench of it overlaying everything else. Heero reined in his mount, almost involuntarily, the soldier in him forcing him to stop and investigate.

Then he saw the horse, sweat soaked, its sides still heaving, its wind all but broken, and he stopped fully. The saddle was empty, so he dismounted, looking about for... something.

The early morning darkness concealed most of the more horrific details. Heero was glad he couldn't see more than the faint outlines of what must have been until just recently a large, rambling house... He didn't have to look closely at the small sad figures huddled here and there to know that there had been a slaughter in this place, the massacre of dozens of innocents.

Sickened, disoriented, wishing that he would just wake from the nightmare, Heero stumbled and wove his way drunkenly forward. Through the gloom he saw a figure, this one alive--the assassin, holding the body of a woman and stroking her hair with infinite tenderness. He looked up once, obviously seeing and recognizing Heero, but returned his attention to the woman.

"I'm going to kill you," Heero said, eventually, fumbling to a halt an unsteady few feet away.

"Go ahead, I don't plan on stopping you."

Heero blinked. That wasn't the sort of reply he'd expected. "Oh... do you mind if I wait? I don't think I could lift a sword right now."

"Whatever."

"...what happened here?" Heero asked, after a few minutes of silence.

"You want the long story or the short?"

"The short for now."

"I work for Zechs Merquise... and Treize Khushrenada. They kept my loyalty by holding this orphanage hostage. As long as I performed my missions, they got to live. I failed to kill your duchess and they died for it." The assassin sighed. "I'd guess the Specials came here yesterday morning, around breakfast time, and eradicated anything that moved, and the burned the place to the ground."

"Oh..."

"Yeah. If you don't mind doing me a tremendous favor after I'm dead... Kill them. Please."

Heero tried to sit, but ended up collapsing in an ungainly sprawl. "You didn't like working for them."

"Hell, no. I have a knack for causing death, so what? Doesn't mean I want to do it for a living. It was all about blackmail... I wish I could cry. Maybe it wouldn't hurt so bad, then."

"I have a better idea. Why don't you help me kill Zechs Merquise and Treize Khushrenada?" There was a flaw somewhere in that logic, but Heero was too tired to care anymore.

"Enemy of my enemy, huh?" The assassin shrugged. "Whatever. You can always kill me later, I guess..."

"That works for now. It's Shinigami, right?"

The braided man cringed. "Gods, no. Call me Duo... Duo Maxwell."


	6. Chapter 6

[16 May 1243 Post Alliance]

The aide fidgeted and coughed nervously. "Your Grace..."

"Yes?" Dorothy replied absently, eyeing herself in the mirror with a critical eye.

With the air of a man determined to do his duty regardless of the cost, he plunged in. "Your Grace, are you certain it's entirely *wise* for you to take the field with the army?"

Dorothy flicked a speck of dust from the breastplate of her armor and gave her family crest a little buff. "By 'wise' I assume you mean 'safe' or appropriate.' Am I correct?"

"Er--well, yes," he said defiantly.

"Nothing in this life is safe, Andre, though I am impressed and touched by your concern for my personal welfare. As for the propriety of my actions, tell me if you think it's entire *appropriate* for me to invade Peacecraft."

Andre blanched. "Er... Whatever Your Grace deems appropriate is," he said hastily.

Dorothy smiled. "I'm glad that you feel that way. Now, go fetch my wizard. I'm ready to gate to the army's current position."

   


* * *

  
 

Zechs prodded his horse forward, to ride beside Treize at the head of the column. "Your Grace, the detachment I sent out yesterday morning has rendezvoused with the main force, although a small group remained behind to deal with my agent."

"Will that be enough?" Treize asked, raising one forked eyebrow curiously.

"Walker is in charge of that squad, and I am persuaded that my agent will push himself hard in order to reach his people in time," Zechs explained. "Even he wouldn't be able to defeat five men in such a state."

"I see." The duke seemed to have his doubts, but let the matter pass.

   


* * *

  
 

"What was that?" Duo lifted his head, expression suddenly much more wary and alert than it had been just moments ago.

Heero paused at this rapid, unexpected shift. "What?" he asked, automatically responding to the mood.

Duo carefully lifted Sister Helen's head from his lap. It seemed to Heero that the other man had suddenly come alive... but in a very feral, dark way. "Zechs probably left someone behind to take care of me," he hissed. "Very wise of him, I'm sure."

"The same ones responsible for this?" Heero asked, voice equally soft.

"No doubt." Something glittered in those blue-violet eyes that was much less pleasant than the fading starlight.

"Are you armed?" Heero asked grimly.

Duo smirked. "You'd be amazed."

Heero held up a hand, listening carefully. After a moment, he caught it--the faint crack of a foot crushing a twig. Catching Duo's attention, he mouthed, "I'll go left."

Duo nodded sharply, then stood, melting into the gloom as if he'd never been there. Letting righteous anger burn away the dulling edge of exhaustion, Heero pulled himself to his feet, burying himself in the shadows of a burnt-out chimney and waiting.

Conversation drifted through the air as light began to turn the sky in the east grey.

"...two horses?"

"Empty saddles... spread out. Someone's here. Find them."

Heero smirked. *Not if we find you first.* He stealthily loosened his sword in its scabbard, waiting...

He would have been surprised to learn just how much he resembled Shinigami in that instant.

The first soldier happened around the corner, looking grim. He had his own sword drawn, and he advanced at a snail's pace. Heero almost snorted as a breeze sent a leaf skittering through the man's path, causing him to jump back, muttering soft curse words.

"...all a bunch of bad business, if you ask me... kill a bunch of orphans and then wait around to ambush an assassin..."

"Hn. Idiot," Heero pronounced, springing forward. The man managed a wet croak before collapsing over Heero's sword. Heero kicked the body off the blade and returned to his post, waiting.

   


* * *

  
 

/'Rage is dangerous. It can give you an edge when you need it, but it can also get you killed. Fighting when you're upset is a surefire way to leave yourself vulnerable--anger makes you stupid, never forget that.'/

Duo repeated the words to himself silently, bending his own will to the wisdom his mentor had shared.

/'If you *must* fight when provoked, make the anger work for you. Be its master, make it serve *your* purposes. Channel it into your awareness, force it to make you move faster, see more, be stronger. Never allow it to narrow your focus so much that you forget to concentrate on the most important thing--staying alive.'/

He'd never had as good a reason to remember G's words as now. Prowling through the ruins of his home, stalking the monsters who had destroyed it, Duo wanted nothing more than to rush out, screaming his rage, to tear out their throats with his bare hands. He wanted revenge, wanted those men to suffer like he was suffering, and wanted them above all to know *why* they were dying.

The assassin took several deep breaths.

*Focus... focus... make the anger work for me...*

It would have been satisfying--intensely satisfying--and horribly foolish.

Duo watched the five men discuss the meanings implicit in the presence of the two horses. Then they fanned out, two staying together with the two worn-out horses, huddled close to the light spread by their torches. One went off to the right, alone, in the direction that death waited in the form of a cobalt-eyed warrior. The remaining two headed to the left.

Shinigami teased at his mind. ~Why don't you let *me* deal with them? It'll be so much easier that way.~

*No. I don't need you anymore.* Duo shoved the darkness aside vigorously.

~As long as you kill you'll need me. I am you.~

*No. Not anymore.* Duo shook his head in denial.

He heard the laughter, his own laughter, dark and mocking and bitter. ~And you claim you never lie.~

*Go away, and leave me alone.*

Blessedly, Shinigami retired for the time being, though Duo could feel him ready and waiting to take advantage of any lapse.

Duo stalked the two soldiers, who nervously stayed close to each other as they explored the killing field around the orphanage. He smiled, stooping once to remove the knife from his boot.

"This is damned creepy," one of the soldiers murmured. "I wish that assassin would show so we could just get this over w--urk."

"Huh? What the--" His companion turned and shouted as he watched the man fall forward into the dust, the hilt of a knife protruding from his back. Spooked, he backed away from the body, eyes darting back and forth rapidly.

"Looking for someone?" Duo asked dryly from behind him, lunging forward and landing a low, hard punch to the man's kidneys. As he staggered, Duo wrapped his hands around the soldier's head, jerking it sharply to the left.

As he dropped the body, Shinigami chuckled at him. ~I would never have given him the chance to scream.~

*That's why I didn't ask you to help.*

   


* * *

  
 

Heero winced at the cry of alarm. Deciding that any surviving men would probably go to investigate it, he headed through the shadows, endeavoring to stay as hidden as possible.

The commanding officer and the one soldier with him seemed to be having an animated conversation with each other. Apparently, the soldier was *highly* opposed to the idea of going to find out who had screamed and why. Heero shook his head, deeply amused.

He eyed the distance between himself and the two men, noting the lack of cover and the way the light was rapidly dispelling the darkness.

*Difficult... not impossible... but difficult.*

   


* * *

  
 

Duo considered it.

~You know *I* can get you across there without a problem,~ Shinigami purred.

*Absolutely not.*

~Why be so stubborn about this? You *do* want revenge, right?~

*Not at that cost.*

~Coward.~

*Yes.*

It wasn't going to get any darker, so Duo shoved aside the internal dialogue and pushed himself into action, padding into the cover of the trees surrounding the orphanage, the weight of a dead man's purloined sword comforting in his hand.

   


* * *

  
 

Movement. There. Furtive and slow. Heero smirked again. The two Khushrenadan soldiers were far too involved in their argument to notice the assassin slipping up on them.

Why not make that distraction all the more thorough?

Heero coaxed his exhausted body into a gentle trot, loping toward the pair with little regard for any disguise of his approach.

"Albric? That you?" The officer called, warily. "For the sake of the gods, would you hold Jonson's hand so he won't be so damned scared of his own shadow?"

Heero snorted. "Idiots."

The commander's eyes widened comically. "You're not--The assassin!" He cursed.

"Certainly took you long enough," Heero muttered. Then he considered the two men approaching him with their swords having been drawn, and entertained the notion that perhaps he should have given this plan a little more thought.

   


* * *

  
 

Duo froze at the cry of alarm, then sighed as he saw what Yuy was doing.

~If he dies... they'll report back to Zechs... you'll be free,~ Shinigami whispered.

*True--but...*

~Then you'll be able to pursue revenge without having to worry,~ his private piece of darkness added.

*But--*

~And he wants to kill you anyway... once he accomplishes his own goals and you have no more purpose, what makes you think he'll change his mind? You don't *really* want to die, do you?~

*Well, no...*

~Look at him, he's exhausted. He'll never last against those two--see how fresh they are? It's just a matter of time, really. And how stupid is he to charge them like that?~

*Dumber than I thought...*

~Then doesn't he *deserve* whatever happens?~

   


* * *

  
 

Panting, Heero stared down at the two bodies, then looked up at Duo, who had a faintly manic grin on his face. "That was... invigorating," he said wryly. "What took you so long?"

Duo's smile faltered briefly. "Waiting for the right moment, I guess... You shouldn't have done that, you know."

"I figured you'd need them good and distracted."

Duo turned away. "You shouldn't trust people you've just met so much," he said lightly. "Let's go find these bastards' camp and get some rest."

Heero nodded. "Sounds good."

   


* * *

  
 

Quatre looked incredulous. "You have *got* to be joking, Trowa."

Hirde raised an eyebrow. "And what makes you think I'm even *willing* to play this game of politics, anyway?"

Trowa shrugged. "It's better than *your* idea," he said, pointing at Quatre, "and *you'll* do it because it sounds dangerous, exciting, and rather lucrative."

The captive bounty hunter had to grin. "Okay, you've got me pegged, I have to admit."

"I don't care about them, Trowa. It doesn't matter to me what they do anymore," Quatre protested.

"You can't run away from your family forever, Quatre," Trowa told him. "Sooner or later you will have to face them."

Quatre sighed. "Yes, you're right, of course. Families are like curses, impossible to escape. Fine. It's a feasible plan, actually. If Miss Schbeiker is amenable...?"

"Sweetheart, if you pay *half* as well as your sister, I'm willing."

Quatre snorted. "Iria isn't throwing *her* dowry away, that's why she's so free with the purse strings. But, yes, I have the funds to pay you just as well--and I won't be bankrupting the duchy to do it."

Hirde wriggled. "Then will you untie me now, please?"

Trowa loosened the bonds, and she sat up, eagerly reaching for the jewelry Quatre had so casually dropped in the dust. She let out a low whistle. "*Fancy*."

"Mm. Just something I picked up a few weeks ago." Quatre said noncommittally. "It meets your standards?"

"Gods yes. I can retire comfortably on this little bauble... not that I would, of course." Hirde bounced to her feet, swiping the signet ring as she did. "Well, Mister Winner, Trowa, it's been fun, but I have business in Chanth... see you around, boys." She bounded away, still smiling.

"There goes a satisfied woman," Quatre laughed.

Trowa looked at him. "If you haven't gone home to your duchy, and you're just a wanderer..... how is it that you have that much disposable money?"

Quatre coughed. "I found it under a magic toadstool?"

Trowa just waited patiently.

Quatre coughed again. "Uh... let's just call it a creative view of the, ah, finer points of ownership."

"You're just a thief?"

Quatre was insulted. "I am *not* 'just a thief.' As it so happens, I am a very *good* thief." He buffed his fingernails on his shirt and eyed them critically. "You might say there's none better."

Trowa laughed.

Quatre regarded him, amazed.

"Only *you* would be so proud of that," Trowa chuckled. "I should have known, though."

"Hn. I don't see what's so funny," Quatre sniffed. "I was merely trying to decide what would annoy my family the most and I realized that becoming a notorious thief would drive them insane. All that injured aristocratic pride, don't you see."

"Is *everything* you do aimed at them?" Trowa asked.

Quatre sobered. "Not everything. Just... most of it. All of us have our demons, my ranger friend, and we're lucky if we can ever face them down enough to live our own lives. For me, my family is my demon. But, this plan of yours might actually work. We'll see."

"Your faith in me is touching," Trowa muttered.

Quatre snickered. "Sorry. It's just that I was so impressed by your prowess in apprehending that bounty hunter that all civility left my head."

"Here we go again," Trowa sighed resignedly, not fooled by Quatre's return to his previous flamboyant seduction attempts. "Don't you ever give up?"

Quatre beamed at him. "No. Besides, I'm leaving tomorrow morning... don't you want to give me a proper goodbye?"

"You're positively incorrigible."

"That may be the sweetest thing you've said to me yet."

   


* * *

  
 

"We're lost, aren't we?" Meiran asked flatly.

Wufei glared at her. "We are *not* lost."

"Yes we are. We've passed that rock three times already this morning!" she contradicted.

"We aren't lost, woman! We're just... slightly spatially misplaced."

Meiran looked triumphant. "In other words, we're lost.

"Yes--NO! I know where we're going, I just have to figure out how to get there," Wufei snapped. "And *you* aren't helping, you know?"

"Well, *I'm* not the one chasing after legends--*my* suggestion was to head south and rally the other clans, but *you* had a better idea... Let's you wake the dragons, you said. That'll teach Her Grace, you said. It will be justice, you said. Hah! I'm hungry, I'm tired, and I *marked* that damn rock the last time we passed it!" Meiran pointed to the rock.

"Don't you two *ever* stop fighting?!" Sally demanded, tired after a morning of similar exchanges. "Gods! You're giving me a headache! I've half a mind to just leave the two of you and go home, damn it!"

Wufei looked at her blankly. "You don't have a home."

"The hell I don't! It may *be* hundreds of miles from these godforsaken mountains, but it exists! I swear, if it weren't for the fact that I'd hate to leave Cathrine with you two, I'd go *now*. You two are nothing but squabbling, immature children, and you're annoying the hell out of me."

Cathrine gaped, first at Sally, who had just scolded the two nobles, then at the aristocrats, who seemed as though they couldn't quiet believe they'd been equated with spoiled children. Finally, she laughed.

Sally smiled to hear it, then looked severely at Meiran and Wufei. "Would it kill you to be civil to one another?* she demanded. "You may be a lord and his lady, but I've known peasants with better manners."

Wufei sputtered. "Woman, you--"

Sally smacked him. "My name is Sally. Your wife's name is Meiran. Her name is Cathrine. Remember that, please."

Meiran giggled at the indignation on Wufei's face. Sally folded her arms across her chest stoically, waiting for Meiran to stop laughing. "I'm not done yet," she announced. Meiran looked at her quizzically. "As I recall, you didn't object *that* strenuously to this entire dragon idea. Stop being so damned bitchy about it just because *he* came up with the idea."

Cathrine touched Sally's shoulder gently. "I think that's enough... It looks like you've traumatized them both."

Sally snorted. "They needed it."

Wufei, making an obvious effort to keep his voice even, put forth a suggestion. "Why don't we stop for a quick meal while I, ah, reorient myself with the terrain?"

Sally smiled brightly. "I think that a picnic sounds lovely!"

Meiran and Cathrine just shook their heads.

   


* * *

  
 

Ralph rubbed his eyes. The days were much too full of things to be done, it seemed... The army, what there was of it, was mustering and drilling, as if a few days spent on a parade ground could prepare it for an invasion. The populace of Escand and the surrounding countryside was evacuating (To where? he wondered) or settling in for a siege... not that it could be a long siege. The city had long since outgrown its ancient defensive walls. The only comfort Ralph found was in knowing that the castle itself would withstand the two armies... at least for a little while.

"You should rest, you know."

"Mm? Yes, I suppose." Ralph smiled. "But so should you."

Relena smiled back. "But we aren't going to, are we?"

"No, I rather suspect not... It looks bad for us, love."

"I know... I know." She sighed. "I wish I could console myself that Milliard would never let his own duchy fall... the duchy *he* should be ruling, not me... but even I can't keep faith forever."

Ralph shook his head. "You've believed in him far longer than anyone else would have. No one will blame you for giving up on him."

"Do you think so?" Relena asked.

"I doubt even Zechs would fault you."

Relena closed her eyes. "Ah. Well. Enough talk. Back to preparing for the invasion... Merquise has us at a disadvantage by knowing our defenses as he does."

"Yes, he does," Ralph agreed, recognizing Relena's final acceptance of her brother's changed identity in her use of his new name.

   


* * *

  
 

Dorothy winced, but only internally. The disadvantage of traveling along magical routes was the draining effect it had on one's body. But such were the prices of inconvenience. Proud in her armor, the duchess moved forward, away from her gasping, drained wizard, to take the head of her army.


	7. Chapter 7

[17 May 1243 Post Alliance]

Quatre tucked the last bit of gear securely into place. *Aren't people who are going home supposed to feel happy about it?* he thought grimly. *I suppose that only counts if home is a good place to be...* He turned and gave Trowa a smile he didn't really feel. "Well, Trowa, I suppose this is goodbye, isn't it?"

The ranger shrugged a little. "You're heading west?"

"Yes." Quatre looked at him ruefully. "Thanks for a memorable few days, I guess. Even if you wouldn't let me seduce you properly..."

"Failure keeps us humble, Quatre." Trowa checked the fire pit carefully, ensuring that no errant ember might still lurk under the ash.

"Humility is overrated, if you ask me. Where are you off to now?" Quatre inquired, telling himself that he wasn't stalling. Really.

"I have some business to the west," Trowa answered, checking his horse and not looking at Quatre.

"You do? Why don't we ride together?" Quatre suggested. Realizing immediately that he sounded too eager for the company, he added coyly, "I understand that a traveling companion really makes a journey much more pleasant."

"Is that so? I was under the impression that the sort of companion you're referring to slows a person down." Trowa turned and looked at Quatre gravely. "But I'll travel with you for a while anyway."

Quatre couldn't contain his sincerely relieved laughter.

   


* * *

  
 

*This seemed like a much better idea yesterday.* Heero stared at his sleeping enemy turned ally. *I'm _sure_ that it was sensible, even, so why does it feel like a disaster waiting to happen now?*

The assassin and the guardian, working together: it was not logical. He'd sworn to kill this man in revenge for what had been done to his duchess. A part of him still yearned to fulfill that vow, to spill blood in order to pay for blood already spilled. A more rational voice argued that there could be no trust at all between them--and Maxwell was an *assassin*, living completely in a world of lies and betrayals. He had no business at all considering a working partnership with the man. And yet...

There was no way to fake the genuine level of grief that Maxwell had displayed while they had buried the unfortunate inhabitants of the orphanage. And it still made Heero want to shiver just a little bit to recall the way venom dripped from the assassin's voice as he spoke about Zechs Merquise.

There were just too many contradictions, blending the clear-cut lines between black and white into grey.

   


* * *

  
 

~He's watching you, you know,~ Shinigami observed.

*Yes, I know.*

~What do you suppose he's thinking about? What you did to his duchess, perhaps? That he promised to kill you, and that you're just lying here, defenseless and asleep? That you work for Zechs, whom he hates?~ Shinigami purred.

*I do _not_ work for Zechs. Not anymore.*

~Does that matter to Heero Yuy? They call him a perfect soldier, absolutely implacable in his loyalties and hatreds.~

*I'm still alive, so he'll probably let me live. Until we kill Zechs, anyway.*

~It would be better to kill him, and then kill Zechs.~

*No.*

Duo decided that the charade had played on long enough. Without opening his eyes, he spoke. "I see you've decided to let me stay alive."

"For now." Heero sounded hesitant.

"Why?" Duo asked the question before he could think better of it.

"I don't know."

Duo opened his eyes, and saw the thin angry line of Heero's mouth. *Heh. Guess he doesn't deal well with ambiguity.*

~We're going to have so much fun with this one,~ Shinigami chuckled darkly.

*Shut up, we're not going to do that.*

"Do what?"

*Shit, did I say that out loud?* Duo scrambled for an excuse. "Sorry. I have a bad habit of thinking out loud."

Heero looked skeptical of this explanation, but let it pass. "If we're going to work together, we should start discussing strategy," he said.

"Good point." Duo sat up. "Treize has probably already deployed his troops, heading into Peacecraft. It's possible they're already within your duchy's borders. Catalonia should also have moved by now, both against the dragon clans and against Peacecraft. I don't believe there's any specific timeline for the attacks, but the general idea is to grind Escand into dust between the two armies."

"What's your good news?" Heero asked.

Duo laughed at that. "There is no good news. Between Dorothy and Treize, Peacecraft doesn't have a prayer. If this weren't a personal matter, I'd say let Treize unify the duchies into one kingdom, with himself at the head. He's a capable leader, and it would do more good than harm. However..." Duo smiled wolfishly. "It's personal now."

Heero nodded, able to appreciate the sentiment. "One thing. Zechs is mine."

Duo smirked at him. "That's what *you* think."

"He's a traitor. It's my duty."

"He killed *my* family. It's my right." Duo was smiling, but there was no doubt that he was serious. "You can kill Treize if you want, but that blond butcher is mine to kill." He paused. "But if you ask me nicely, I might let you help."

"Why don't we discuss that on the trail?"

   


* * *

  
 

[18 May 1243 Post Alliance]

"Still no word?" Relena looked worried as Ralph shook his head _no_. "Where could he be? Do you think he ran into trouble?"

Ralph snorted. "This is Heero we're talking about. He's a big boy, Relena. He can take care of himself."

"I know... I'm just so used to him always being around that I don't know what to do without him." The duchess shook her head. "I wish he were here. We could use his help planning the defense of the city."

"That's the gods' own truth, but he probably has his own reasons for remaining absent," Ralph assured her.

"I can hardly wait to hear them... assuming we survive."

Ralph couldn't fault her the pessimism. "The alarm has been spread to the city, of course. A fair number of subjects have chosen to leave, as we expected... but most of the city remains." He paused, unsure of how to approach the phenomenon he'd seen in the streets. "They're staying... to fight."

"They'll be slaughtered!" Relena was aghast.

"They don't care. You should see the barricades they've begun. It's nothing that Khushrenada's army won't crush, but not a single man or woman in this city is going to give up without a fight." Ralph smiled. "They're going to fight for their duchess."

Relena bowed her head. "I didn't ask them to do this. I wouldn't ask this of them."

Ralph hugged her. "I think that's why they're going to do it anyway."

   


* * *

  
 

Dorothy was unsurprised when a runner approached her place at the van of her army. He spoke urgently to one of her aides, who immediately turned to the duchess. "Your Grace, it appears that Lady Une is waiting for you just ahead."

"Then let me not keep her waiting." Dorothy urged her horse forward, trusting that her staff would scramble to follow and escort her.

About a mile from the vanguard, Dorothy drew her horse up next to a low rock. "Lady Une." She inclined her head, but did not dismount.

"Your Grace." Une adjusted her glasses. "His Grace is interested in what tidings you might wish to send him."

Dorothy smiled. "There are no longer any fortresses within Catalonia's borders no held by my troops."

"Dragon Keep?" Une inquired delicately.

"Fallen. For clans so devoted to the way of the warrior, the resistance they offered was pathetic."

"His Grace will be pleased to hear this. Your army moves swiftly," the emissary noted.

"My troops are as eager as I for the coming battle. I expect to knock on Escand's gates in a week."

Une smiled thinly. "Excellent. His Grace entertains similar hopes. Good fortune to you, Your Grace."

"Good fortune to you and my cousin as well," Dorothy replied, as Une stood, the outlines of her figure blurring and dissipating.

One of Dorothy's aides muttered at this. "I hate that witch. She gives me the creeps when she does that."

   


* * *

  
 

"Are we *sure* that we know where we're going?" Cathrine asked, as Wufei lead them deeper into the crags of the Dragon's Spine, following a narrow path that only he seemed to recognize.

At the head of the group, Wufei huffed exasperatedly. "Yes, I know where we're going, wo--Cathrine."

"I thought you said no one had been to this place in centuries," Sally argued, exchanging a conspiratorial grin with Cathrine.

"It hasn't."

"Then how do you know it's even still there?" Cathrine asked.

"He *knows*, all right?" Meiran, exasperated by the wrangling, snapped. "This is something the Dragon Lord has to know, so stop arguing with him about it! It's getting on my nerves."

Wufei gave Meiran a startled, grateful look as she, at the rear of the party, clambered over the next rock in the path. Her face remained set in the expression of irritation she customarily wore in his presence.

"Well, excuse me for asking," Cathrine grumbled. "It's not like we have an unlimited supply of food, you know."

"We'll have enough," Wufei grunted.

"...and it's still pretty cold at night, in case you hadn't noticed," she continued.

"We have a fire," Wufei reminded her. "And blankets."

"Yeah, but--"

"We'll be fine!" Wufei roared, the echoes of his voice startling a bird into flight as they bounced off the rocks.

Cathrine snickered. "You ought to relax a little, Dragon Lord. All that tension can't be good for you."

Sally laughed softly, as a vein began to throb on Wufei's forehead. "Better lay off, Cat. It wouldn't do if he had a stroke or something right here on the trail."

"Ah, we'd manage something even if he did," Cathrine snorted.

   


* * *

  
 

"So, Zechs, how does it feel to be going home?"

Zechs looked sideways at the duke. "Which home would that be, Your Grace?"

Treize smiled slightly. "You needn't play coy with me this afternoon, Zechs."

The blond had his doubts about that, and chose his words accordingly. "Zechs Merquise knows only Khushrenada as his homeland. Peacecraft is a place he might have known once, a long time ago, when he was another man."

"So you feel nothing about this?" Treize gestured at the army stretching behind them.

"I feel nothing that I should not feel, Your Grace."

Treize chuckled. "Someday, my friend, you'll have to explain to me what it was that made you chose this life."

Zechs bowed his head slightly. "I hope there will be plenty of time for that after the campaign, Your Grace."

   


* * *

  
 

[18 May 1243 Post Alliance]

They'd ridden together for a day and a half in near-total silence, save for necessary communication regarding camping and which roads to take. Where the road permitted, they road side by side; where it didn't, Duo rode in front, with Heero behind, through an unvoiced agreement, since Heero was unwilling to let Duo out of his sight, or to trust his back to the assassin. They'd split the watch between them; during Duo's turn, every move he had made had jolted Heero awake.

Duo hadn't said anything about Heero's edginess, but his sardonic smile told Heero it had not gone unnoticed.

Well, so be it, Heero decided. They might be working partners for now, but it was only temporary. Just as soon as Treize and Zechs had been suitably neutralized, this peculiar alliance would be over, and without the common enemy, he would extract punishment for the attack on Relena.

Still... there were questions that still bothered him. They were riding too hard and fast to be able to converse easily on the road, so Heero stored them up for later in the evening.

   


* * *

  
 

Ladling two bowls of stew out of the pot, Duo offered them both to Heero, allowing him to choose the one he preferred. Then he blew on a spoonful and ate it immediately. The previous evening, Heero had waited five minutes for him to take the first bite before digging in to his own dinner.

~You'd think he doesn't trust us,~ Shinigami chuckled.

*I just can't imagine why,* Duo retorted. *And he's staring at me again.* He set his bowl aside, to allow it to cool, and addressed Heero directly. "What, do I have something on my face?"

"No. Sorry. I was just thinking." Heero looked down at the bowl in his hands. "Why kill everyone at the orphanage? Why not just kill one or two people, and hold the rest over your head? Treize is usually a much more practical man than that."

"Do you want the long version, or the short?"

"The long one this time. Please?" He only barely remembered to tack on the polite formality, but a slight quirk of Duo's lips told him that the gesture was not unappreciated.

"Fine." Duo picked up his bowl again, eating mechanically as he gathered his thoughts. "They killed everyone this time because of the way they had to persuade me to work for them."

   


* * *

  
 

[3 February 1234 Post Alliance]

There was no warning prior to the attack, as five men, their faces gaunt with hunger, erupted from the thickets on either side of the road. Within seconds, they had cut down Brother Mathias, the only adult male in the tiny party, and were pulling Sister Anna off her horse.

Sitting in the driver's seat of the wagon, Sister Helen shouted over the sound of Sister Anna's screams, "Boys, run!" as she shoved Solo off the bench and into the snow. Face white, he seized the wrist of the only other member of the party, who was staring with wide-eyed at the gore splashing the snow around Brother Mathias' body.

"Duo, snap out of it!" he screamed, as one of the men advanced on the wagon and Helen, whose lips moved in silent prayer despite the fear in her eyes.

Duo shook off Solo's grasp unconsciously as his eyes darkened to a violet glitter. As his friend watched in disbelief, he seized the nearest object serviceable as a weapon--a fallen branch--and swung it at the head of the nearest brigand. The man staggered, dazed by the unexpected blow, and half-turned away from the wagon and Sister Helen. "You little bastard--"

Gripping the branch two-handed, Duo swung the branch again, faster and lower than before, catching his opponent across the ribs. The man cursed, fumbling with his sword. Recovering from the strike, Duo hit him for the third time, cracking the man sharply against his temple. The man dropped, and Duo cast the branch aside, picking up the man's sword instead. Sparing just a moment to drive the point of the sword home through his downed opponent's throat, he looked around for his next adversary.

~There, the one coming up from the left. Him first, then the one behind him. They're going to try to flank you, so you have to move fast. Like this.~

Duo crouched, and exploded forward, feinting a low strike such as he had used against his first opponent. When the man tried to block to low blow, Duo attacked his unguarded shoulder, the blade of his sword biting deeply into the man's body. Howling, the injured man went down.

~Behind you!~

Duo rolled forward, tumbling past the man he'd just injured, narrowly escaping the blow that had been aimed at his unprotected back. He seized the opportunity to slash at the legs of the man who'd been attempting to flank him, and regained his feet just in time to parry an attack from the fifth bandit.

The third man had gone down next to the second, adding his own blood to the mess on the snow as he clutched at his hamstrung leg. That left two brigands, the one who'd snuck up on him, and the one in front of him.

~Back up. Yes. Like that. Now... like this.~

Duo parried again, knees buckling under his adversary's superior strength. As the man forced him to fall backwards, Duo kicked a leg out, tangling an ankle around the man's foot and bringing him down with him. Duo kicked himself to his feet, and just barely managed to parry against the other brigand.

~Faster! Like this!~

Still following the instructions that were coming from nowhere, Duo swung at his opponent three times in rapid succession, twice high and the third time low. As his private instructor had expected, the man blocked both high attacks and took the third attack squarely in the belly.

That left only the fifth bandit, who was just regaining his feet as the fourth bandit fell. He stared at the teenager. "What kind of demon are you, kid?"

Duo felt an unfamiliar smile spreading across his face as he answered with a voice he didn't recognize as his own. "I'm Shinigami... and I don't like talking to dead men." He lunged forward, twisting his sword around his opponent's and yanking it out of the man's hand.

The man tried to back away, face paling. "Don't--"

Duo wrapped his left hand around the hilt of his sword and swung, shearing through flesh and bone. The fifth bandit's head, its expression frozen into one of fear, flew into the thicket as his body dropped.

Duo threw his head back and laughed, before turning back to the three men he'd left injured on the ground. The man who'd taken a sword in the belly was writhing feebly. Duo ignored him in favor of the hamstrung man, who was trying to crawl away with a look of panic on his face. With that same strange smile, Duo walked after him, calmly skewering him. He was just turning his attention to the man with the shoulder wound when Sister Helen's scream stopped him.

"Duo, what are you *doing*?!"

That shattered the strange spell that had fallen over him. The sword suddenly felt strange and heavy in his hand, and he let it drop into the snow. He looked down, seeing that his simple robes were covered in blood. He looked up, and saw that Sister Anna, Sister Helen, and Solo were all staring at him like they no longer recognized him... He wasn't entirely certain he still recognized himself.

   


* * *

  
 

[18 May 1243 Post Alliance]

Maxwell's soft words wove a spell as hypnotic as any wizards, Heero admitted privately, filing away the important reference to Shinigami. It had sounded almost like Maxwell considered the assassin-name an entity unto itself.

Interesting...

"Word got around, somehow. I'd guess it was Sister Anna's fault. Nice enough lady, but liked to gossip. It was big news, you know? The skinny kid about a year from taking the orders himself defends a supply wagon from five bandits like a seasoned warrior ten years his senior. Some of the brothers and sisters said it was a miracle, and some of them said it was a demon..."

Another interesting fact. Taking the orders? Either Maxwell was much more complicated than he'd expected, or he was one hell of a liar. Heero couldn't tell which.

"And somehow it got back to Treize Khushrenada himself, or maybe just to one of his lieutenants..."

   


* * *

  
 

[12 June 1234 Post Alliance]

Although he was not yet the duke, Treize Khushrenada already possessed the loyalties of a select circle of followers who would serve him well whenever his aging father passed the ducal throne to him.

Une was one of these.

She watched the orphanage carefully, bored by the surveillance. If it hadn't been for the fact that Lord Treize had asked her to do this for him, she would have long since left her post in the hot summer sun for pleasanter activities. But Lord Treize had his reason for everything, and it wasn't her place to question his orders.

Still, three days of sitting in a tree and watching a group of priests and nuns doing chores *was* asking a bit much. She was beginning to rue the day she had ever mentioned the story of that wretched boy to Lord Treize. What little she *had* seen of him made her doubt the rumors she'd heard. He seemed normal enough to her...

There he was, in fact, running away from the main house, turning back to laugh and shout something to the boy following him. Une perked up. Perhaps *this* was the chance she'd been waiting for.

   


* * *

  
 

Duo rubbed the back of his neck, trying to rid himself of the sensation that he was being watched--again. The feeling had lingered for the past three days, like an itch that he just couldn't scratch.

~Maybe there is someone watching you.~

Duo shivered, frowning. Just when he'd thought he'd imagined the voice in his head, and its instructions, it *had* to resurface. He'd wanted to think that it was just something he'd dreamed up on That day, but... now it was back, and much harder to explain away.

He looked around, but saw nothing beyond Solo running to join him. *This is ridiculous. I'm just going to relax and enjoy my afternoon off.* Grinning as Solo caught up, he said, "Race you to the river!" and broke into a run.

"No fair!" Solo shouted, giving chase.

Duo had the head start, but Solo had the greater speed. Duo was just in sight of the low banks of the river when Solo passed him, long legs pumping wildly. He slid to a stop at the very edge of the water, turning to regard Duo triumphantly.

Duo, ever the graceful loser, whooped and tackled his friend, sending them both flying into the water.

Solo howled as they surfaced. "Duo, you little bastard!"

Duo scrambled away from Solo. "You *did* say you wanted to go swimming," he reminded his friend.

"I was *going* to take my clothes off *before* getting into the water."

"Oops." Duo's eyes were wholly unrepentant.

"With an attitude like that, they'll never let you into the priesthood," Solo predicted, swimming towards the center of the river and its deeper water.

"Then I'll have to do something else instead," Duo shrugged, swimming out with Solo.

Solo stopped to tread water and stare at Duo. "Are you feeling okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"You've *always* wanted to be a priest just like Father Maxwell."

Duo considered it. "I guess... things change." To switch the subject, he lunged at Solo, ducking him.

When they finally tired of the water war and swimming, they returned to the bank, stripping out of their wet clothes and lounging in the sun.

"'S a nice day," Duo murmured, drowsing a little.

"Yeah." Something in Solo's voice sounded odd, so Duo looked over at his friend. "Duo... what would you do instead?"

"Dunno." But his hand flexed with the memory of a sword's weight. "Something, I guess."

"It's funny. I always figured the two of us would be a team, no matter what... but I get the feeling nowadays that you're heading someplace I can't follow." Solo's tone was distant.

"Shut up. We'll always be a team and you know it. Solo and Duo, right?" Duo grinned uncertainly. "Solo, snap out of it, you're starting to worry me."

"Duo..." Solo rolled onto his side to look seriously at the younger boy. "I..."

"Uh... Solo?" There was something odd lurking in Solo's pine green eyes, and his face was getting closer, fast.

It was a clumsy kiss at first, nose bumping nose. Duo froze, suddenly conscious of everything: the rock digging into his ribs, the smell of the river, the heat of the sun, and Solo *was* *kissing* *him*... and he was kissing back, and liking it.

Solo jerked back, the tangle of his sun-streaked hair framing the uncertain, questioning look in his eyes. "Duo--"

And then all hell broke loose.

   


* * *

  
 

[18 May 1243 Post Alliance]

*Why is he telling me this?* Heero stared at Duo, caught in the deeply personal story.

   


* * *

  
 

[12 June 1234 Post Alliance]

Five armed men against two naked, distracted boys makes poor odds--or good, depending on one's point of view--but Une was not one to play fair. Her orders required her to establish the veracity of those intriguing rumors. The way Une saw it, if there was any substance to the stories, this would prove it for once and all. And if not... it didn't matter much.

   


* * *

  
 

~Up! Roll, to the left--now!~

Duo rolled away as three soldiers, wearing the ducal colors, rushed his position. As he moved out of harm's way, his fingers closed around the only weapon he had--the rock that had been prodding him in the ribs. He came to his feet in a crouch, testing the weight in his hand.

The three soldiers spread out, fanning around him. Duo backed up, unwilling to let anyone at his back. He only stopped as his feet squished in the mud of the riverbank.

~Now they have the higher ground, as well as superior numbers and weapons. Brilliant work, that.~

*Shut up and help me figure out how to save my skin.*

~Wait for it... wait... now!~

Duo feinted to his left, as if to flee, and then charged the soldier on his right. He threw his rock as he approached, cracking the man squarely between the eyes.

~Good,~ his inner guide approved, as the man dropped. ~Now, here's what we need to do next.~

It felt infinitely better to be holding a sword, Duo decided, as he stole the fallen soldier's blade and faced down the other two soldiers.

~They aren't good fighters, but they do have the advantage of wearing mail...~

But there was no time for strategy as the soldier on the left moved forward. Duo took a step to meet him, and slid to one knee as his foot slipped in the mud.

The soldier grinned at this as Duo glared up at him. "Not so tough now, are you?"

Duo's sword slammed into the man's knee, shearing through muscles and sinews. A second thrust upwards, with all the strength of his crouched, coiled muscles behind it, crunched through chain mail and into the soft vitals beneath. Duo kicked the body off the blade and turned to the third soldier.

"That will be quite enough, I think," came a crisp voice, interrupting the melee. "Canton, stand down. You too, Duo... unless you'd like to see what sorts of unpleasantness we can concoct for your friend here?"

The prickle that had been his warning of something amiss disappeared as a slender young woman emerged from the copse of trees that had hidden her five soldiers. Two of the soldiers were dead. The third, Canton, was backing away and sheathing his sword obediently. The fourth and fifth--held Solo firmly between them.

The woman smiled thinly, the afternoon sun glinting off her glasses and the coiled braids of her hair. "I am Une, and I've been watching you, Duo. There's someone I know who's going to be very happy to meet you."

"Go to hell."

Une raised a hand. "Ah, ah, ah, Duo. Be polite, or your friend will suffer for it."

Canton drove a fist into Solo's stomach.

As his friend doubled over, Duo glared at Une. "What do you want from me?"

"Whatever my master wants." She jerked her head at the soldiers. "Clothe them, and bring them along. If the one with the braid gives you any trouble, kill his friend."

As she walked away, there was nothing Duo could do but dress himself in his clammy clothes and suffer his hands to be tied.

   


* * *

  
 

[18 May 1243 Post Alliance]

Heero interrupted Duo's hoarse voice. "You don't have to tell the rest. I can guess what happened."

Duo pulled his attention away from the far-off memories it was visiting. "No, I think I do," he said, voice raw from all the talking. "I've never had a chance till now."

   


* * *

  
 

[14 June 1234 Post Alliance]

The aristocrat stared at Duo, and then at Une. "Are you *sure*?" he asked, not unkindly. "He looks so ... harmless."

~Give us a sword and we'll show you harmless.~

"*And* he sounds a touch mad," Treize added at the outburst.

Duo blinked. Surely he'd *thought* that, hadn't he?

~Don't worry, kid. We'll get through this together.~

"I'm sure, Lord Treize," Une assured her master. "I have no doubts he's genuine. His technique may be raw, but he's very talented."

"Raw?!" The indignant exclamation broke from Duo's lips before he could stop it.

"He's quite opinionated, too. What of this other young man?"

Une's smile was sly. "They're special friends, my Lord."

Treize lifted an eyebrow. "I see. How farsighted of you to bring him along, Une."

"Thank you, my Lord."

Treize then addressed Duo. "Boy, I've been looking for someone with your innate talents for a long time now. I want you in my service."

"So you kidnapped me?" Duo retorted. "Go fuck yourself... my Lord."

"I don't believe you fully comprehend your situation, boy," Treize replied, tone still utterly pleasant. "I have need of a killer--a born killer, like you--and I always get what I want. Either you work for me, or I shall order your... friend... executed."

Duo stared at the ducal heir, frozen with horror and indecision.

"Duo, don't do it," Solo whispered.

"Lord Treize did *not* ask for your input," Une snapped, slapping Solo.

"I..." Duo stopped, looking at Solo's anguished eyes. *Don't worry,* he wanted to tell his best friend and maybe more. *I'll be fine. Don't worry.* "I'll do it... just don't hurt him."

Treize smiled faintly. "I thought you might prove smarter than you looked." He nodded at Une, who handed Duo a dagger from her own belt. "You will obey my orders precisely and without hesitation. Do you understand?"

Duo looked away from Solo's wounded eyes. "Yes, my Lord."

"You will never question my orders, nor will you disobey them. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Very well. From now on, no one must know of your existence except as a shadow, or that it is I who employs you. Your first mission is to eliminate this young man who knows too many secrets."

Every fiber of Duo's being rebelled in that instant as he looked Treize in the eye. "No."

"You disobey me?" Treize turned to Une. "Kill the boy."

Duo shrieked as Une calmly slid her other dagger between Solo's ribs.

Solo crumpled to the floor, eyes shocked and betrayed, as Duo looked on, horrified.

Dimly, as Solo's eyes turned glassy, he could hear Treize's voice. "Let this be a lesson to you, boy. Disobey me again, or fail in a mission I give you, and I will see to it that the orphanage you came from is burned to the ground with everyone in it. Do you understand, boy?"

Duo looked up at Treize, an unholy violet light coming to life in his eyes. "I understand, my Lord. I will not fail you again."

"See to it that you don't... and what *shall* I call you?"

Duo felt a strange smile cross his face. "My name, Lord Treize? It's Shinigami."

   


* * *

  
 

[18 May 1243 Post Alliance]

Heero stirred uncomfortably, feeling that he ought to say something. "You didn't need to explain... so much... but... thank you. Duo."

Duo poked at the dying fire with a stick. "At least if I die, someone will still know what happened. That's all that matters, I guess. It's late. Why don't you sleep first, while I keep watch?"

"If you're--"

"I'm sure. I don't feel like sleeping yet."

"Ah." Heero stopped arguing, rolling himself into his sleeping roll and dozing off quickly.

Duo listened to the regular breathing for a while.

~Excellent job! He's beginning to trust you, I think.~

*Fuck off, Shini. I don't feel like playing your games tonight.* Duo propped his chin up on his knees, drifting off into old memories.

He was still sitting like that, asleep, when Heero woke up at dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Postscript, November 2009: This is another thing that I began but never finished. If I recall correctly, it was going to involve reasonably epic battles, dragons, more death, and Duo and Heero coming to some sort of partnership with each other.


End file.
